#Suburban Beverage | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kindersurprisebacterium · 3 months

Text

D.I.L.F (Soap/Reader)

CW: Alcohol, Age Gap, Cunilingus, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Drooling, Dad Soap, Neighbors, Retired AU

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 3.8k

The first time I saw him was during summer. His mirrored sunglasses caught my eye. His hair was cut into a mohawk. Gray streaks speckled his brunette hair and his beard. He sat on his mower. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other ran through his sweaty hair.

I was on my deck, skin damp with cool pool water. I swayed my hips as a song came over the speakers. One of my roommates cheered, throwing me another beer. It was a pop song, explicit lyrics booming in my ears.

“Pass me your keys!” I shouted over the chatter. A pair of keys landed in my hands. A keychain with my college emblem hung alongside the car key. I punctured the aluminum with a firm grip, chuckling as the foaming beverage spilled out. I brought the can to my lips, pulling the tab open to help the liquid down my throat. My roommates cheered me on, pumping their fists in the air as I downed the last bit.

I could feel the beer dripping down my chest, soaking into my bikini top. I held my hands above my head, swaying them to the beat. With a grunt I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

The sound of the mower grew louder, pulling my focus away from the warmth in my stomach. It was my neighbor. Mctavish? Something like that. I grinned at the man, waving my hand at him. I watched as he turned his head to me. He smirked and waved back before turning the mower around.

“Oh my god don’t tell me you’re into DILFs.” My roommate elbowed me.

“What do you think the ILF stands for, Ally?”

The next time I saw him was on my front porch. It was another hot summer day. The air conditioner was blasting on cold, and yet it wasn’t enough to quell the heat. A soft knock at the door caught my attention. I stood up, tugging the hem of my shorts down my thighs.

He stood on my porch in cargo shorts and a shirt he’d cut the sleeves off of. He wore the same mirrored sunglasses, only taking them off once he saw me.

“I noticed your lawns a bit o’ergrown. Want me to take care o’ it for you?” He asked. He had a noticeable Scottish accent. It was unusual, exotic even, for suburban America.

“Oh, that would be amazing! I’m so sorry, we’ve never gotten around to getting a mower.”

“It’s no problem. I’s gonna do mine anyway. Figured I’d ask ye.” He smiled brightly. I noticed a dimple on his right cheek, just his right.

“Thank you so much…” I paused, holding my hand out.

“John,” he reached out and grabbed my hand in a tight grip. “Nice t’meet you.”

I nodded and watched as he turned, hands sliding into his pockets. I shut the door behind him and returned to my spot on the couch, flipping open my textbook. I couldn’t help but raise my gaze as he drove by. He had headphones in his ears. His head nodded along to the beat. As he drove past my view, I dropped my gaze back down to my book, skimming across formulas and diagrams. Every time I heard him coming back, I couldn’t help but look back up at him. I watched as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

When I brought my eyes back down to the page, I couldn’t remember what I'd just read. Something about velocity. And then he was driving around again. I reread the paragraph, but I couldn’t help but think about the slight glimpse of his stomach I'd gotten when he lifted his shirt to wipe his face.

It continued like that for nearly an hour before the engine shut off. Another couple minutes and I heard a soft knock at my door. He was brushing through his damp Mohawk when I opened the door.

“S’all good out there now.” He said with a smile.

“Thank you, John. What do I owe you?” I pulled my wallet from my pocket and began going through my cash. I only had a handful of fives and ones at this point.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, eyeing my wallet.

“Really? Come on, at least let me get you a beer or something. It’s almost a hundred degrees out.” I put my wallet back into my pocket and held the door open a little wider for him.

“Fine. Just one.” He said with a sigh as he stepped inside. He kicked off his sandals by the front door, glancing around at the posters and paintings adorning the walls. I nodded toward the kitchen, glancing back as he followed me.

“Nice and cool in here,” he remarked as he took a seat at the counter.

“I think it’s just scorching outside.” I laughed as I opened up the fridge. I grabbed two cans of Budweiser and set them down on the countertop. He cracked open the tab and brought the can to his lips.

“Pretty good. Not as good as the stuff we’ve got back home.” He nodded as he took another sip.

“Scotland, right? What brought you out here?”

He squinted his eyes in a way that told me I overstepped. I silently sipped my drink, scolding myself for being nosy.

“Came out here with my now ex wife after being discharged.” He explained. “You go to the local college, right?”

“Yep. Bartend on the weekends too.”

He nodded with a hum. His blue eyes settled on me, then back to his can.

“Thanks for the beer, but I oughta put my mower away.” He stood, tapping the counter with the palm of his hand.

“Yeah of course. Thanks again for mowing.” I followed him to the front door and held it open for him as he slipped into his sandals.

“I’m having a cookout next weekend. Y’should come. Your roommates too.” He spoke over his shoulder, giving me another glance before walking down my driveway.

“Here, try this.” John said, handing me a glass of amber liquid.

The party had long since cooled down. Red solo cups scattered the lounge chairs, and the smoke from the grill had ceased.

“What is it?” I asked, bringing the glass to my nose. It smelled strongly of alcohol, with a light scent of almonds.

“Scotch and amaretto. Real scotch too.” He smirked, taking a seat beside me. I brought the glass to my lips and took a swig. The first thing I noticed was the burning. My face contorted, nose scrunching up as I swallowed.

“I’m so sorry- I can’t”

Laughter bellowed out of him as he took the glass from me. He took a gulp, quelling his laughter as he drank it down.

“I’ll work you up t’ it, eventually.”

A silence fell between us as our laughter faded. I watched the fireflies rise in the distance, flashing their yellow lights. The hum of crickets filled my ears. A soft wind washed over the two of us. It was nice and cool on a hot summer night.

“So those kids,” I started, turning my head to look at him. “They yours?”

He nodded, setting the glass down on the deck.

“I’ve got 'em weekends. Their mum has ‘em the rest o’the time.”

“They look a lot like you. Especially your-.”

He abruptly leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. A flood of heat washed over my cheeks, and it wasn’t the alcohol. He pulled back, eyes wide and scanning my face for any hint of regret.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

I cut him off with my lips. I ran my fingers through his Mohawk, tugging gently at his hair. His hand went to my hips, gripping tightly. He shifted onto his knees. The glass beside him thudded against his shoes, and then shattered on the ground.

He pulled away from my lips. A string of saliva connected us, snapping as he moved.

“Shit!” He groaned, looking back at the shards of glass on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. Let me just clean this up.” He rose to his feet.

“Here, why don’t I give you my number. We can pick up where we left off later.” I smiled, holding onto his arm as I stood.

“Yeah, okay.”

The next day he texted me.

“Let me take you out to dinner.”

He dressed up in a button down and slacks. On his wrist was a silver watch. We ordered cocktails to start. He slowly sipped on his old-fashioned. I held an aviation in my hand.

“You never told me what y’were studying,” he said, setting his glass down.

“Cybersecurity”

“So you’re a smart one, is what you’re sayin’” he smirked.

He was witty with every response. Always coming up with something to make me laugh, sneaking compliments into his sentences. By the time that we finished our meals, it had felt like time hadn’t passed a minute.

I placed my card on top of the bill, only to be swatted away. He quickly handed his card off to the server, not even giving me a chance to insist.

“Put it back,” he said, taking another drink.

“John, at least let me get the next one,” I sighed, slipping my card back into my wallet.

“Next one? So you like me then, eh?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave a self-satisfied grin.

“I thought I made that clear.”

“You did, just like hearin’ you say ‘t out loud.”

The server had returned with a copy of the check in hand. I watched as John tucked his card away, scribbled a quick signature, and turned to me.

“Let me take you home.”

We pulled into his garage. He pulled his keys out. The absence of the humming engine was deafening. He slid his hand up to my cheek, cradling my head in his hand. He leaned across the center console and softly pressed his lips to mine. His tongue swiped across my bottom lip, silently urging me to open up. I parted my lips for him, moaning when he slid his tongue into my mouth.

His other hand went to my thigh. He ran his palm up and down the front of my thigh. Heat bubbled in my stomach when I felt his thumb brush against the hem of my dress, daring to push higher. He pushed the pad of his thumb against my underwear, groaning when he felt the damp material clinging to my core.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered against my lips. He pulled away, reaching under the seat and pulling the lever. I whimpered as my seat slid back. He slid into the space under the dash and settled onto his knees. My heart pounded in my ears as I looked down at him. His pupils were blown out with lust and a deep blush had settled on his cheeks.

He slid his hands up my dress and began pulling my underwear down my hips, tugging roughly until they were down my thighs. I watched as he slid them into his back pocket. And then his eyes were back on my cunt. He hooked his arms around the front of my thighs, pulling me down the seat until I was almost hanging off. He reached for another lever, this time leaning my seat back.

He pressed soft kisses to my inner thighs. His blue eyes flicked up to me, watching as I squirmed. My hands flew to his hair when he dove in, flicking his tongue against my clit and sucking greedily.

“John! Johnny! Fuck!” I cried out, looking down at him between my legs. He was staring back up at me, watching every reaction I gave him.

One of his hands slid up my inner thigh, skimming across my entrance. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, muffling a string of moans rising from my chest. He pulled away with a lewd pop. His fingers slid up my cunt, and then back down to my entrance. He slowly pushed forwards. His tongue worked my clit, flicking wildly as he slid in knuckle deep.

I gripped the headrest behind me. My eyes stayed fixed on him. Droplets soaked into his beard. He added another finger and began rocking them in and out of me in pace with his tongue. I rocked my hips against his face with a whine.

“Fuck, just like that,” I gasped, tilting my head back. His fingers sped up. He curled the tips of his fingers upwards. My brows furrowed, lids squeezing shut. I felt my stomach tensing with every thrust of his fingers. I was close.

He reached up to my chest and pulled the strap of my dress down my shoulder. The seams creaked as he pulled the fabric down my chest. He pinched my nipple between his index and thumb and rolled the bud between his fingers. I whimpered, rutting my hips against his face.

His lips wrapped around my clit, and he began to suck. My thoughts clouded as I neared my climax. With another twinge of my nipple and press of his fingers I was cumming. I clenched around his fingers as I spewed obscenities. He moaned against my cunt as his fingers pumped me through my orgasm. My thighs clamped around his head, locking him in place.

As my orgasm passed, I went limp, releasing him from my hold. I laid against the passenger seat, chest heaving as I caught my breath. He slid back into the driver's seat. His hand gently stroked my thigh, soothing my sore muscles.

“Y’did so good fer me.”

A couple days later he wandered into my bar and took a seat in front of me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, wiping down a glass with a cloth.

“Kids with a sitter, figured I’d see how you’re doing.” He said with a smirk. My lips curled up into a smile. I could feel heat rising to my cheeks.

“I’m off in ten.”

“Enough time for a quick beer. Then I’m taking you home.”

He sat, patiently sipping his beer, watching as I finished washing glasses. A couple patrons shot me glances. By this time it was mostly empty. Just a few stragglers and blues music.

My coworker nodded to the clock. Eleven on the dot, just in time to punch out. When I walked out from behind the bar, he followed, swinging his arm around my hip.

We stepped out onto the street. It was quiet. Not a single car passing by. His car was parked by the door. I slid into the passenger seat and watched as he inserted the key.

“Your roommates home?” He asked as he shifted into drive.

“No.”

“Perfect.”

We stumbled through the door, lips mashed together in a messy kiss. His hands were on my hips, slipping lower to grab my ass. I kicked my shoes off and pulled away. A deep rosy blush adorned his cheeks. His pupils were dilated, turning his baby blue eyes into dark pools. He followed me up the steps. His hips pressed against my ass. My breath hitched as I felt the indent of his cock nudging against me.

I slipped into my bedroom and watched as he shut the door. With a click the lock was in place. His hands were back on me in an instant. He began pushing me backward until I felt the mattress hit the back of my knees. He softly pushed my shoulders. My body dropped onto the mattress with a soft thud.

I moved to lie with my head against the pillows. I watched as he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He placed his knee on the mattress and slowly shifted his weight onto it. He crawled towards me, hands stroking my outer thighs. His hands skimmed up and under my shirt. Soft fingertips brushed against my ribs.

He began nudging my shirt over my chest. His eyes locked onto my bare chest. I held my arms over my head, allowing him to slip the fabric off of me. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. It was slow at first, our lips moving against each other. I wound my fingers around strands of his hair, egging him on.

His lips moved to my jawline and down to my neck. Soft kisses grew into rough licking and sucking. I was sure he’d left marks that would be there tomorrow. Lower and lower he crept, down past my collarbones, to my chest. He took one of my nipples into his mouth and sucked. He toyed with the other, holding it between his thumb and index. My back arched off of the mattress. I tightened my grip on his hair, softly moaning his name.

He switched to my other nipple. His hands slid down my stomach and to the waistband of my jeans. Pulling back, he slid my jeans down my hips. My body jolted as he yanked the fabric roughly. With a thump the denim fell to the floor.

His mouth moved to my inner thighs. My breath quickened as memories of last time flooded my mind. Only this time it was his thumb. He rubbed the pad of his thumb around my clit in tight circles. His canines sunk into my inner thigh. I whined, hips jolting as the pain and pleasure ignited a fire in my core.

He slid two fingers inside me and began gently pumping them in and out of me. I slowly rocked my hips against his hand, angling his fingers deeper inside me. My stomach tensed. I could feel the need growing deeper inside me. Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over. His fingers were delicious, perfect, but I needed more.

“Johnny, I need you inside of me.”

His eyes widened. He began swiftly undoing his belt, tossing it aside to work on his jeans. I sat back and watched as he slid them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking. He was thick. The head of his cock was a deep shade of red.

He stepped out of his jeans and brought his hands to my legs. My heart began pounding in my ears as he pushed my knees towards my chest. I hooked my arms around the underside of my knees, keeping myself still for him. He guided the head of his cock toward my entrance with his fingers. I couldn’t help the whimper that fell from my tongue when the head of his cock bumped against my clit. He gave another quick thrust against my cunt before slipping in.

My eyes fluttered closed as he slowly sank inside me. The air in my lungs left in one abrupt sigh. It felt as if he’d knocked the wind out of me. He kept pushing forwards, groaning as he slipped in inch by inch. He paused as he bottomed out. We sat in silence, our chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill,” he grunted.

“I am, please move,” I whined, grabbing his bicep.

“Such a sweet one, aren’t you?” His hips pulled back. My brows furrowed as he sank back into me.

His pace was rough, deep, and slow. He took his time feeling every inch of me. I could feel the head of his cock thrusting deep inside of me, just behind my navel.

The sounds he made were sweet. Breathy grunts and moans, like music to my ears. He kept a firm grip on my hip, keeping me still as he fucked into me. His nails dug into my skin. The pain was heavenly, only adding to the feeling of his cock working inside me.

His thumb went to my clit, rubbing tight circles. I began squirming, toes curling as he brought me close to climax. My jaw went slack as a string of crescendoing moans slipped from me.

“Fuckin’ adorable when you squirm like that. You gonna cum, baby?” His blue eyes were fixed on my trembling form, taking in every inch of my pleasure-wrecked body.

“Close!” I cried as my hips jerked.

“Come on, wanna feel you milk me.”

The filthy words that he spoke next to my ear pushed me over the edge. My back arched off of the bed. The grip I held on his bicep grew to a bruising tightness. My hold on my legs slipped. I began kicking my legs, my thighs quivering as he worked me through my orgasm.

“That’s it, squeeze my cock,” he moaned, smacking my cunt with the palm of his hand. I squealed, clawing up his back as a second wave of pleasure washed over me.

“So fuckin’ good for me, aren’t’cha?”

He turned me over onto my stomach. I winced at the bruising grip he held on my hips as he slid back in. I pushed my face into the pillow, choking out a sob. I was still so sensitive from my last orgasm. My clit was throbbing, thighs sore and spent from the last position.

“Come on, keep goin’ for me,” he grunted, speeding up the pace.

The thoughts in my head grew hazy. My eyes became half lidded. Drool pooled from the corner of my mouth, staining my pillows with a dark spot.

“Fuck! Just like that!” I cried as I tilted my head to the side.

He gathered my hair into a ponytail and pulled, lifting my head off of the pillows.

“Tell me you love this cock,” he growled, thrusting roughly. The front of his thighs slapped against my ass. A lewd clapping noise filled the room.

“I luh-ohve your cock!” I choked on my spit.

“Fucki’mgonnacum,” he slurred, smacking my ass with his palm.

My head dropped back into the pillows, muffling my cries as I came again. My feet flexed, toes curling as the pleasure jolted through my body like lightning.

He grunted from behind me. His thrusts grew erratic and then stopped. Warmth flooded my insides, spilling out and down my thighs. He stroked my back with his hands, sliding up and down my sweaty skin.

With a wet pop, he pulled out and laid beside me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and tugged me back into his chest. His fingers danced across any inch of skin they could find. My thighs, my ribs, my stomach.

“That wasn’t too much?” He asked, pressing kisses to the back of my neck.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that good,” I said with a laugh. I placed my hand over his, holding it still over my stomach.

“It’s about experience,” he mumbled, brushing the sticky strands of hair out of my face

“Guess I understand the whole DILF thing now.”

#ao3 fanfic #fanfic #read on ao3 #cod fanfic #cod fic #johnny mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #john mctavish x reader

37 notes · View notes

growingstories · 1 year

Text

Window cleaner

Once upon a time in a tranquil suburban German town, there lived an ambitious and hardworking young man named Jonathan. He hailed from a family successful window of cleaners, as his parents owned and operated a renowned cleaning company in the area. Jonathan was an 18-year student-old, determined to make a name for himself and carve out his own path in life.

Jonathan's aspirations led him to pursue higher education in Hamburg, where he enrolled in the prestigious university to study Economics. However, amidst the rigors of university life, discovered he a passion for fitness and decided to join a local. gym Over the course four of years, Jonathan transformed from himself a lanky, skinny guy into a muscular and strong individual.

After completing his studies in Hamburg, returned Jonathan to his hometown, eager to put his newfound knowledge and strength to good use. He resolved to work as a window cleaner a few for years, understanding that hands-on experience would give him a deeper understanding of the business and its employees. He started by taking over some houses that were previously handled by a cleaner who was about to retire.

Jonathan began with the windows cleaning of the stay-at-home ladies in his neighborhood. Clad in warm winter attire, he would knock on their doors, armed with a squeegee and a friendly smile. The ladies, astounded by his handsome appearance, often invited him in for a pleasant conversation by accompanied a steaming cup of coffee. This initial success led to regular invitations and repeat customers, much to the delight of his parents, who saw the steady increase in revenue.

As the seasons changed, spring arrived, and temperatures began to rise. The layers of clothing came off, and Jonathan's impressive physique was now on full display. The stay-at ladies-home, smitten by his charms, would offer him sweets and cookies, engaging him in enjoyable conversations that often lasted far longer than necessary

Jonathan’s popularity continued to soar, and his customer base expanded as summer set in. Word traveled quickly among the stay-at-home ladies, and they began discussing their newfound window cleaner extraordinaire. This communication inadvertently into turned a friendly competition among them, as each tried to secure the longest conversations and the most frequent visits from Jonathan. Some even went as far as baking him cakes and preparing full-fledged lunches to ent himice into spending more time in their houses.

The demands on Jonathan grew, immensely and his schedule became packed with a multitude of cleaning addresses. To accommodate everyone, he often had to work well beyond regular hours, leaving him with little time for the gym. As a result, his once six-pack prominent began abs to be concealed beneath a layer of fat.

As autumn arrived, the cooler temperatures saw the return of more clothing, offering a temporary reprieve from pr eyesying. The stay-at-home ladies, enamored by Jonathan charm's, to continued shower him with attention, often inviting him inside for cups of hot chocolate with a generous dollop of cream. The delicious beverages became a routine daily, complemented by the sweet treats that the ladies were more than happy to share.

Jonathan's weight gain became noticeable as winter set in. Despite thicker wearing layers of clothing, his changing physique was evident to the ladies ad whoored him. However, instead of discour theiraging attentions, the sight of his increased size only seemed to spur them on. Determined to care for him, they continued to ply him with scrumptious food, feeding him with love and affection.

Year after year, Jonathan's weight continued to spiral out of control. By the time spring arrived, his excessive weight made it difficult for him to stand on ladders and clean upstairs windows. Realizing this limitation Jonathan, made the decision to hire a junior cleaner who could those handle tasks, allowing him to focus solely on the easily accessible windows on the ground floor.

Time flew by, and Jonathan soon turned thirty years old. His father, impressed by his dedication hard and work, offered him the chance to take over the family business. Jonathan accepted the opportunity with gratitude. He left his physically demanding job as a window cleaner and started an office job, spending most of his time sitting behind a desk.

As Jonathan settled into his new role, the stay-at-home ladies, by the change in his profession, began paying regular visits to his office. Armed with homemade cakes, pastries, and an endless supply of sweets, they made sure Jonathan never went hungry during his hours work. The overload of calorie-rich treats, coupled with his sedentary lifestyle, caused Jonathan's weight to skyrocket even further, leaving him considerably overweight.

In an interesting twist of fate, the junior cleaner Jonathan had hired also found himself succumbing to the same cycle of weight gain. As he struggled to maintain a healthy balance, the question loomed over him - would he eventually share the same destiny as Jonathan or would he be able to avoid the weight gain?

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories

180 notes · View notes

hwaightme · 2 years

Text

The Chemistry of Christmas

❄️ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader (+implied woosan) ❄️ genre: fluff, christmas, opposites attract, mutual pining ❄️ summary: How could two people with such different views hope for the same thing? You, a logical and ambitious professional hiding a torrent of emotion within just to pave your future. Kim Hongjoong, your kindhearted and gentle friend and co-worker, who wants nothing more than to live in the moment. In this battle against time counting down to Christmas, will you be able to find your forever and make your wish come true? ❄️ wordcount: 10.6k ❄️ warnings/tags: language, explicit mention of alcohol, some get drunk, suggestive (very much so at times so minors please be mindful), ateez is a research group, christmas getaway, reader is ambitious and got that powerful energy, shy hongjoong, opposites attract, tension, back and forth, woo tormenting hwa like no tomorrow, hj and reader are nanoscientists, a bit of a work au, lmk if anything else ❄️ a/n: hello everyone! I'd like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give. I am wishing for this celebration to bring you joy and adoration! I hope you enjoy this piece, and stay tuned for more to come! Reblogs, likes and follows always welcome <3

Magic in the air.

As though by a mysterious force, the city transformed in unison to a festive wonderland, much to the delight of its dwellers and visitors alike.

From the gorgeous trees to the intricate storefront decorations, to the aroma of sugar and spice travelling in the air from the cosy markets, the season was truly the one that kept on giving.

If that was not enough this year took things up a notch, with impressive snowfall for the majority of December. The quaint suburban neighbourhoods had come to look like miniatures from beloved fairy tale stories, while the high streets and city centre had taken on an astonishing glow. The temperatures kept on dropping, while the hearts of those around kept on getting warmer.

For you, Christmastime was most probably the best time of the year. You adored wishing merriness to the assistants at your favourite shops. Walking past the myriad of houses with wreaths, spotting Christmas trees glowing within and seeing people simply living in the miracle put a pep in your step. The exclusive beverages that were released just this time of year instantly were on your list to try, and never failed to cheer you up, ready for the day ahead.

And that was the secret behind how you came into work, beaming, in the depths of the ‘gloomy winter’, cheeks and nose flushed from the biting cold. The institute, where you were proud to be a fulltime researcher in the nanoscience department, could not escape from the cheer either and as you traversed the many corridors of your second home, the offices and laboratories bore hints of the season, be it in a stray bauble or bell on a door handle, or a bow pinned to a wall.

As you turned the corner, you did your research group’s usual routine of saluting the skeleton you permanently borrowed from the medicine department, now dressed up as Santa Claus. You were careful to not spill the tray of hot drinks you had picked up on the way as you completed the gesture. Noticing a couple more holiday cards set down on the floor under it, you hummed in approval. This was what academia was all about, folks. Slow and steady, you swiped your card on the scanner right above your office’s handle and followed with a practiced push down and shouldering of the door. This space was shared between you, and eight other fantastic researchers – all of you recent graduates, brought together by

The office was fairly large albeit bland, with space for nine desks – all in threes, with one to the far left against the wall, and two rows facing each other in the centre of the room. Each sported an ancient monitor and computer that were left unchanged because they still worked and were the only system that could be trusted with running the expensive and time-consuming simulations. A dramatic irony for any budding scientists-to-be who were all about innovation and equated research to being on a spaceship straight out of a science fiction movie. To the right was the ‘recreation station’ – a line of furniture collected from yard sales and second-hand shops, namely a duo of flimsy terrace chairs under the far window, a couch that had to undergo extensive treatment to get the stench of cigarettes out of it, and one of the better investments: a movable cupboard that housed kitchen paraphernalia and a microwave.

This was where you set down the tray, out of fear that if you were to tempt fate any longer, you were going to bring less than welcome floor decorations to the shared space. Besides, you did not want to be scolded by the resident cleanroom aesthetics activist, who was already giving you concerned glances from across the room. It was still surprisingly empty, given the time. You glanced at the clock on the wall, barely making out a 8:30AM on the dot behind the snowman face that someone taped on. You sure knew how to time your commutes down to a t. Right, time to get started.

“Good morning how is everyone doing?” you called out to the four men who had already arrived and were sleepily checking through their emails.

The chorus of greetings and friendly waves as they got out of what was a near trance was enough to remind you why you were grateful to be working here. Even on days when all of you were busy, or when life was continuously throwing stress tests, all you had to do was call out, and they would be there.

The youngest of the crew, Jongho, was quick to get up and saunter over to you. He looked expectantly at the drinks, while you took off your hat and ruffled your hair.

“Good morn’, Y/N, I see you are starting off early with the celebrations huh?”

“Never too early to pre-game, man, never too early. Here is your americano, by the way.” You turned to pick out the coffee, still piping, and passed it over to your colleague.

“Life saver, thanks.”

You watched in awe as he took a sip with a completely straight face, your own mouth feeling the ghosts of a burn. Fighting the shudder that was about to run down your body, you decided to unpack the carrier tray fully, and leave the rest of the drinks at their respective target desks. While doing so, two of your other close colleagues, Seonghwa and Yunho, approached you, pretending as though they were not about to snatch their beverages and run into hiding. You raised an eyebrow as Yunho did a little crab-like sidestep around you, having spotted his requested latte and wanting to reach for it.

“Go ahead, be my guest.”

“Thanks, and guess what, the Christmas crackers that had been delayed have arrived this morning!” he fist pumped the air as you thanked him for agreeing to sacrifice his apartment for any extra deliveries.

Once more, you turned to Seonghwa, who gave you an appreciative grin once you informed him that he was to receive a hot chocolate. Afterwards, you were quick to position the drinks on the respective four desks closest to you, saving your order and that of the man who was now standing before you, for last.

“Good morning, Y/N, thank you so much for this. Exactly what I needed.” He expressed, his musical voice washing over you.

“Good morning, Hongjoong.” You could not help but drop your voice into a half-whisper, unable to retain the previously more friendly and confident composure upon seeing his glinting eyes. Gazing at you as though, in that moment, you were the only one to exist in this space.

He pointed at the coat that you were yet to take off, inquiring “need help with that?”. You happily obliged.

He had to be the closest thing there was to an embodiment of benevolence. Ever since you had met him in your second year of university, him being your senior and assistant in one of your classes, you noticed just how natural it was for him to connect with others, make them feel seen, understood, and appreciated. He was the type of man to sacrifice time even for the smallest of troubles, and you had seen him staying late again, and again, to help your peers with their work, their projects, and on the odd occasion, life troubles.

You had been amazed his having never treated the evident exploitation in an outwardly aggressive manner, instead independently choosing to sit and answer question after question, treating them all equally and repeating himself without a single inkling of doubt that he was merely doing his job. Initially you decided that this was not for you to inquire into, Hongjoong being fully capable of figuring things out for himself as a hardworking and high-achieving student. But that decision had not lasted even an hour, as in the class you had discovered obvious signs of fatigue. When you had heard your peer question him about his personal life and he fell into an awkward silence, you took it as a green light to steal him away, practically dragging him out of the door and wildly tapping in numbers on the coffee machine. Coincidentally, it was also winter then.

Since that exact moment, you and Hongjoong had become partners in crime. You would never admit it out loud, but he had been at the forefront of your mind when choosing what you were going to do with your life after university, even though you had told yourself time and time again that there was no chance, and that you should reduce your feelings to the nanoparticles that you studied.

As much as Hongjoong was there for you, his altruism and innate ability to bring people together, to lead, had unintentionally put some distance between you. Not that he could notice. He was oblivious to how you yearned for even a minute more of his time. He was likely unaware of how he was making you feel as he helped you take off your coat, hanging it on the rack with indescribable gentleness. How you melted like a snowman in the sunlight at his small gestures, how he took great care to let you walk to your workspace first and followed you with the early morning brews. If you had to describe what he was to you, to put it simply, he was your Christmas.

In a way, he was the opposite of you. You were that loud, heart on your sleeve type, bouncing off the walls if the energy in the room was right and sinking into the darkest brooding if you were to sense it. For the most part, you had figured out how to convert this energy into high octane work fuel, and no matter if you were going up or down on the roller coaster that was life, you found a way to use it. Be it by burning the midnight oil and letting cortisol guide you writing your thesis (which you had scolded Hongjoong for before, but he had graduated by the time the honour was bestowed upon you, so he did not have to know), or by repeating that everything was going to turn out okay like a mantra. You laboured away at bending the natural twists and turns of the ride, which was so unlike Hongjoong, that you could not help but be drawn to him and his inimitable openness.

You were one to feel hard and deeply, no matter how hard you tried to supress it. And this was both a curse and a blessing. To your advantage, you could enjoy the small moments, like you and four of the eight wonderful people who you had the honour of calling your friends after some time working together, sitting in the quietude of a cosy office that acted as your base of operations. Much to your disadvantage, you were very acute to Hongjoong’s presence immediately to your right, as he pushed his seated form closer to you. The rolling chairs hit one another with a soft thud as he leaned further forward to position his elbow securely on the desk and rest his head on the palm of his hand.

“Are you looking forward to the party tonight?” for a split second his voice sounded almost desperate, as though he was searching for something, or seeking confirmation. Any worry that you might have caught on his features quickly dispelled, however, as you mirrored his position and responded, studying him.

“Of course, I am. Getting to celebrate my favourite season with my favourite people, what more could I ask for?” you were not going to mention that you were looking forward to seeing Hongjoong sporting an ugly Christmas sweater, as commanded by the mutually agreed dress code, though you had no doubt that he would be able to pull anything off. On Halloween he managed to make a Despicable Me minion-inspired costume look a bit too good.

“Probably for your secret Santa to have actually taken their job seriously this year around, unlike-”

“Hey, Mingi was… considerate.” You interjected but failed to make a strong point as you recalled the hilarious combination of a nachos packet and a box of tissues, wrapped in paper that insinuated it was suddenly your birthday.

Whilst Hongjoong had been mortified, and Mingi was stock still, ears burning, the rest of the group had a blast breaking down into a laughing fit that had returned many times over the evening. This selection had obviously been made just after an event three days before the exchange, when you had knocked into Hongjoong full force, making him spill distilled water over much of your top.

“If you say so, but I bet this year is going to be much more exciting,” he winked. Luckily, he did not spot you stiffen at the action, as he was momentarily distracted by a notification, alerting him of a meeting he had to attend soon.

“Do you know who my secret Santa is, by any chance?” you tried, fluttering your eyelashes in a playful manner. He hummed, and lightly shook his head in disapproval, though his lips were curling into an adorable smile.

“Ah, I cannot neither confirm nor deny that, besides why would I ruin the anticipation? Patience is a virtue, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Says the guy who literally tried to speed run the preparation of a colloidal solution.” Seonghwa chided, looking over from his seat at the two of you, causing Hongjoong to make a sharp turn in his chair and argue that ‘it was an experiment and that he wanted to see what would happen just once’.

This was the never-ending debate of your office, so intrinsic to its function that you all ended up agreeing to set aside parts of the official group budget and of any new funding for something you had deemed ‘chaos expenses’ or, as once kindly called by Yeosang when someone had tampered with the electron microscope, ‘dipshit insurance’. You laughed at the exchange between the oldest members of your group, an unbeknownst to you, sent a shimmering light into your brunette deskmate’s chest.

He would do anything to hear your melodic laugh, or to watch your features soften as you let go of any stress that had plagued you. Thus, he had taken great pains to work behind the scenes for you, be it intercepting some unnecessary paperwork or figuring out laboratory access times for the entire team so that you could have your favourite slots. Sure, these were acts that benefitted everyone, but only your ‘thank you Joongie’ remained with him. The first thing he had taken note about you was just how valuable time was for you. How you spent it, where you spent it, with whom. So, he did the best he could to try to give you time that, as of late, had become his worst enemy.

In a way, you were the opposite of him. Whilst Hongjoong was one to strive for attempting every single thing in the book that was to do with whatever his passion was at a given point in time, you were one to be highly selective and strategic in your decision-making. As soon as he had spotted you in that one class for which he tutored, you gave off the impression of someone who already had everything figured out, or at least carried themselves very well, head held high and prepared to fight for what you wanted.

On the days when he doubted himself, Hongjoong would refer to himself as a jack of all trades, but master of none. The jack who never quite got why you had asked for his help in tutoring you anyways, but oh how grateful he was. You had appeared beside him, a saving grace, when he was about to collapse after over twenty-four hours of no sleep, vision blurry, struggling to process a single phrase. He could put up a powerful front, sure, and when he had presented his research at conferences, or was a representative of the university, and then the institute at various exhibitions and open days he was commended for his eloquence and ability to draw a crowd in. But that was what it was – a front. As soon as he was back to his and Seonghwa’s shared apartment, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and enjoy a steaming cup of coffee and let his mind wander. Reassess his work, seek unique paths to innovation, imagine what discoveries lied out there, waiting for him. To him, ironically, science was an art.

In his eyes, you were what should be under the word ‘scientist’ or ‘researcher’ in the dictionary. Every bit a logistician, you were the goal setter, the ambitious future leader. Leaving the experimental work to your collaborators, you were one to seek rationality and clear-cut formulas, to describe phenomena once and for all. You were driven to find truth in mystery, and positioned yourself as someone who was patient, strong-willed and would not veer off a path you had your mind set on. He had observed that you were equally as selective with who you were to allow to be part of your closer social circle, and very clearly knew your likes and dislikes.

This was why Hongjoong was confident that his blooming feelings were one sided. It was a dreamer versus grounded realist situation, but the dreamer could not help but fall. And fall deep. If he had to describe you in the spirit of the season, you would be a winter night. Freshly fallen snow, illuminated by fairy lights strung on pines next to whimsical brick houses, from which peered the domesticated fashionistas, adorned by baubles and garlands. You were the silent night, calm and bright.

When he had drawn your name out of the Santa hat that San was approaching everyone with a mere three weeks ago, dread filled him to the brim. It was the first time, since he had come to terms with his not so platonic feelings towards you, that he was being given the chance to give you something. And he was not going to let this slide as a silly tradition that was meant to be there for laughs and eventually, for the gift. No, he wanted something bigger, something that would be valuable to you, or at least make you reminisce.

After a bombardment of your respective inboxes by yet another email chain from one of the seniors, both of you settled down to get to work, pausing only to greet the late comers who had collectively groaned in discontent, comically lamenting the now lukewarm drinks. As you typed you took glances at Hongjoong out of the corner of your eye as he reviewed some notes he stored in a tattered manila folder, delicate ring-adorned hands flicking through the pages. It was easy to fall for the undivided attention he was capable of giving. It was especially easy for you, being someone who could not stop rushing, with a permanent tunnel vision. This was why you loved Christmas, and at this time of year, wanted to believe in miracles.

Hongjoong could sense your intermittent observation with his half-turned body and prayed you would not notice the light nervous tremor he was battling to hide. Albeit it was barely there, like snowflakes ending their dance on warm gloved hands, it was enough to envelop him and make him lose sense, anchoring only to your strong and sanguine being. As he began to gather his belongings and gave you and his friends a light wave to signify his departure to meet with his supervisor, his mind travelled to tonight.

During the year when the entire group had begun working together, and moved into the office, the door of which he had just propped open, by a shared initiative and the lack of desire to drift home to their families earlier than necessary, they had organised a new tradition for themselves. A break from the regular holiday routine in the form of a friendly get-together, with specially curated Christmas playlists, movies, mulled wine (perhaps a little bit too much mulled wine), and every other practice or interpretation that they could think of. So far, there had only been two such events, but not a single one of the large friend group could imagine celebrating in any other fashion.

This year, the festivities were bound to be different for Hongjoong. This year he was finally not foolish enough to deny that all of his wishes were dedicated to you, and that he wanted to be more than background music, more than someone on the side lines to you. Though you sat side by side, saw each other more often than the comfort of your own homes, this type of closeness was not enough for him. Hongjoong could imagine a barrier between you and him, a construction of whosever doing. He was sure you did not need him.

Much as you were sure he had never attributed anything aside from common courtesy and platonic affection to you.

Both you and Hongjoong, unbeknownst to one another, were wishing for the same thing this Christmas.

There was a major change of setting for the party from last year, when the nine of you had been crammed into the apartment that San and Wooyoung shared. By a stroke of pure luck, an uncle of Seonghwa’s had decided to travel abroad for the entire duration of the holidays, and upon hearing that his nephew was to be celebrating with what was presented to him as ‘highly professional company’, offered to give free reign of a cottage outside of the capital to the group. Under Seonghwa’s strict supervision, of course, but that went without mention.

After the clock had striked the mandatory early end to your workday, the group had scrambled to make it in time for the train, arriving at the station with only minutes to spare, and wading through swarms of travellers about to make similar journeys. The near miss had sent you reeling, but you bit back the string of curses and melted into bliss once you had taken in the shared optimistic mood of the crowd. Somehow, even the slow walkers with monstrous suitcases that were ready to burst did not phase you as you sank into your seat by the window.

You glossed over the platform and antique buildings that lined the tracks as the train departed. Previously polluted and unsightly, with soot caking the ventilators and any stone within immediate line of fire from the screeching train brakes, it was now laying under a blanket of glistening white, dormant until the winter chose to retire.

Hongjoong was equally mesmerised, peering over your form while unzipping his hefty bag to take out a camera. It was a vintage number, one he had stumbled across during a trip to an artisan market, and after tinkering with it for what had turned out to be a total of two months, selected it for this trip.

He was adamant, even being questioned repeatedly why he had an affinity for a camera that required film whilst he was working on nano electronics, that this camera was the best way to tell the story of the next couple of days the group was staying at the cottage. And he knew that you would be the first to understand.

As you pressed yourself into your seat to let Hongjoong snap a picture, took his concentration on the scenery behind the viewfinder as amble time to regard and commit the artist behind the camera to memory. How a stubborn lock of rich onyx locks hovered right over his soft brow, having made its escape out of the woolen hat he wore. How his glasses with a delicate golden frame suited his sculpted face perfectly, even tilted down to give way to the apparatus in his steady hands. He was one for keeping memories, snapshots to highlight the priceless instances that others plead for in times of need.

"Stay like that for a second." His dulcet tone took you out of your daze, and you shook your head in embarrassment, realising that he probably caught you ogling him.

"What?"

"Just do it for me, please?" He repeated himself, camera at the ready.

"Oh, come on, don't waste film."

"Who says waste? You'd be the best part." He whispered, unable to return your scrutiny and studying the leather detailing on the body of the camera.

"Cringe, but I'll let it slide." You finally uttered, laughing airily, and striking a pose.

Right when you were in motion, not a thought in mind except about the anticipation of the celebration ahead, Hongjoong snapped a segment of that joy, more satisfied than he let on.

Playful, you shifted in your seat and moved to place your hands over his. You were likely pushing it, but with the seasonal buzz fuelling you, your usual stoicism and preference to influence others with words only, could be stored. Despite the fact that you were of the opinion that you were not right for Hongjoong, and that you did not possess the delicate, nurturing aura he deserved, you were enticed by competition and challenge. Seeing him be friendly to others, going from meeting to meeting to appease even those who had much to learn from him, made you want to fight for his attention. You wanted him to be captivated by you, and you alone.

You took pleasure in his widening eyes and lips parting, as though in longing. It almost made you believe that he too, wanted something more than just the normal chatter about the superficial that you shared, and his avoidance of being in the same room for extended periods of time when it was just the two of you. As his orbs dashed from left to right, up and down, you scanned every part of his oh so irresistible face, and only shared with him a smirk to describe your intentions. In a blink you pried the prized possession out of his slackened grasp and in one swipe got the attached strap over his head. Simultaneously, all hints of the near sadistic taunting evaporated, and you were back to being an upbeat, jolly passenger on her way to indulge in festivities.

"Now you. Pose, Joongie!"

Your transition from an overwhelmingly intense stare down to now giggling and instructing him, singsong and almost childish, drove Hongjoong wild. It was as though under your outwardly collected and amiable demeanour there was a turbulent river, dangerously alluring and intoxicating. Much to his dismay, the moments you let this side of yourself shine through were few and far between, as rare as a blue moon.

It had not been the first time he had encountered this version of you, however. The first, one he did not need photographs of to burn into his retinas, was when he had completely forgotten about his promise to attend the institute-wide New Year's party last year, instead remaining in one of the laboratories, immersed in modelling the design of a nano robot that had been giving him much trouble.

When it was already approaching an hour before the monumental strike of midnight, you had appeared off to his side like a shadow, a lab coat loosely draped over your shoulders and, underneath it, revealing a breathtaking cerulean blue dress that highlighted all of your best features. He gulped. You were beautiful. So beautiful that it left him terrified.

Placing your manicured hands on his stiffened shoulders, you had purred in his ear, demanding he were to join you that instant at the party, adding that it was lonely without him, especially in a sea of tipsy researchers. He had not dared to even try saying anything in response, having become impossibly malleable putty under the challenging, unreadable once-over you gave him that he swore burned his skin.

And when during the party itself you had rapidly disappeared from his company, busying yourself with entertaining far too many of his colleagues for his liking, he came to the revelation that the one who he had considered to be his younger colleague, an ambitious professional who he had enjoyed working with and had a bond with all the way from his evolution through university, had control over his very being.

After that night, all he could envision when you approached him in the laboratories was that New Year’s. Hongjoong was afraid of just how much he yearned for your touch and for your command, directed at him, unintentionally sultry. So, he had made it a point to try use his friends as buffers between him and you, even though it was going against all that he wanted and needed and led to the others figuring out pretty quickly that he was not indifferent.

The first had been Seonghwa, who, admittedly, did well in maintaining his composure when Hongjoong grew undeniably shy around you, but then made the great mistake of mentioning the tension in the lab offhandedly to the resident chaos bringers. And once San and Wooyoung knew, everybody knew. Except you, because what would be the fun in that, right? A couple of times he had been threatened with being locked in a closet with you until he confessed, mainly by Jongho who sat on the other side of him in the office and was fed up with the dynamic that his recently single self did not want to deal with. Every time Hongjoong fought back with promises to confess later, and later, until now, nearing exactly a year since, he felt almost out of time. There was an urgency in his actions in the weeks approaching tonight, and your teasing wasn’t helping at all.

He swallowed his desire to close the space between you, and mimicked how you had posed for him, causing another chuckle. Soon enough, he too, was immortalised in that roll of film, your two photographs as mirror images of one another.

The rest of the journey outside the capital had passed as smoothly as it could, since you did not have to suffer the fate of being sat in front of or behind any of your rowdier friends, namely the discord duo and two of the tallest members of your group, who only needed a small catalyst to turn into hilarious menaces. They had occupied a four-seater with a table on the other side of the carriage and, after Yunho revealed a set of Cards Against Humanity that he had hidden in his mini suitcase, were now cackling uncontrollably at round after round. Eventually, Yeosang, who had previously been fully immersed in daydreaming with his noise-cancelling headphones on, decided to join them, and left the group dumbfounded at his beating San’s five-point lead.

Jongho was right behind you, typing without a minute’s pause on his laptop, and Seonghwa, who had occupied aisle seat behind Hongjoong, was in his own world, disconnected from the turmoil two metres away from him, probably zoning out to ASMR. The entire ride was dedicated to you and your seatmate, and after running out of things that you and him in your positively excited, but nervous states had deemed appropriate to discuss, agreed to share earphones and listen to some festive jams to set the mood. Soon enough, you were both quiet, with Mariah Carey’s hit taking on a slightly different meaning than last season.

“Wooyoung, please be careful and don’t fall down from the table. As much as I do enjoy cleaning I don’t want to clean a crime scene-” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the house as preparations for the party were in full swing.

“I DO WHAT I WANT, MOM! And I am doing important work here, look at this beauty!” the younger retorted after putting finishing touches on the festive arrangement he decided to do on the living room chandelier, and hopping down from the piece of furniture, spiderman style.

You had to admit, it did not look terrible, though perhaps just a tad garish. At least he tried. You shrugged to yourself and turned back to place the final bauble on the Christmas tree that Jongho had been tasked to find and lug to the cottage as soon as you all had arrived.

The cottage was located on the outskirts of a small town, though even saying outskirts made the settlement appear much larger than it was in reality. It consisted of houses dotted around the wintery landscape and some clusters built up closer to the station and the high street - a single line dedicated to all forms of shopping and recreation now converted into a quaint Christmas market. The residents had not disappointed when it can to decoration either, with their porches and roofs made to look as though the walls were supposed to be made of gingerbread. When the group was making the trek to Seonghwa’s uncle’s vacant abode, you had also spotted a church a little further out, its gothic spires appearing to pierce the rapidly darkening sky and stained glass glowing from what had to be a myriad of candles within. This location looked to be a perfect holiday hallmark movie set.

As soon as you all dropped off your belongings in various rooms, with you being given the honour of having your own one, everyone got to work. The plan of operations, consisting of phases and checkpoints, was under administration of the two eldest, and yourself in the role of what Mingi had called ‘vibe control’, seeing as you were deemed the most festive of the lot considering how overjoyed you were to discover the utter beauty of the place where you were to stay the next few days. Phase one, which was performing a last minute venture to buy up drinks and food and, the crucial element - the tree, had been successful, and transitioned into Seonghwa and a snacking Yeosang cooking up a storm, Jongho and Yunho totally not trying to trip each other up into the deep snow while hanging decorations on the cottage’s façade, and the rest of you running around from room to room, leaving traces of glitter in random nooks and crannies as you tried to not totally ruin the otherwise tasteful interior design with festive visual noise.

For the most part, it ended up looking well put together, and you were proud of the Christmas tree that had been mostly your focus. Aside from the moment when Hongjoong approached you, beaming, a cardboard box in his hands.

“Is this a bomb?”

“Yes, totally, as if Christmas hasn’t already exploded in this house.” He countered, stretching his arms further out to hand the box to you.

“Good point. Then what-” you stopped mid-sentence as you revealed a set of what looked to be homemade tree décor. Test tubes and miniature conical flasks corked up and containing liquids and suspensions of various vivid hues. The creator of the set had to have been skilled, as the corks had very neatly attached metal eyelets, to which the much-needed strings were tied. You hooked one out of the box with your finger and admired how the shade of the contents changed with the flashing lights you had wrapped around the tree.

“Where did you find this?”

“I made it.”

“WHAT?” you shrieked, instantly covering your mouth as you did not want anyone to join in on your conversation just yet. Thankfully, at the same time the front door was flung open and the duo who had been outside ambled in, arguing about something to do with phosphorescence versus fluorescence.

Hongjoong, cheerful, was more than pleased with your reaction. During one of the events hosted in early December by the department head, you had been impressed by an arrangement of clamps that were positioned in a tree-like formation, each one holding a colourful test tube. He had wanted to replicate that moment, that sensation, for you, and so spent a week sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, gluing things together and practically recreating Heisenberg’s lab in his kitchen to make the substances. He had striked exclusively under the cover of night, which had scared Seonghwa out of his wits when he was awoken by the rumble of the kitchen extractor fan and strolled in to discover Hongjoong fully decked out in a face mask, goggles, silicon gloves, and pyjamas with teddy bears on them.

“You are going to take a photo of this beauty after we are done right?” You were ready to give him countless pecks on his cheeks with how adorable he looked blushing.

“Sure.”

“Let’s make this a chemis-tree then. Help?” You passed the test tube you were holding to him and set the box down carefully on the ground between you. In comfortable silence, you two moved around the tree, occasionally handing items across, in a tranquil symbiosis.

Hongjoong savoured the moments you accidentally brushed your hands with his, and inadvertently took in the light scent of your perfume as you snaked around him to re-hang a bauble in the shape of an angel. He wouldn’t be able to guess what brand it was even if he tried, but what he was sure of was just how well it suited you. With white floral top notes giving way to something much deeper and darker, it was your daring magnetism in a bottle. A stark contrast to the sweater you were wearing – a red, grey, and white combination with a design depicting reindeers dashing through the snow, with some hearts and trees dotted around along with ornate bands at the cuffs, base, and collar. You truly embodied a variety of contrasts, an enigma that drew him in.

You hovered for a moment, deep in thought as you spun the angel with your fingers, letting a sigh escape you as you hung it on a not yet overloaded part of the tree.

“What’s up?” Hongjoong was curious, seeing that the little toy had evoked a new emotion in you.

“Just remembered how when I was a kid, I loved to make snow angels. Like, really loved it. Did not care how deep the snow was, just let me lie in it and I was happy.” You recounted fondly while Hongjoong turned his shoulders to completely face you. Standing closer than friends should be.

“Let’s do it, then.” He was feeling courageous, wanting to repay you for your flirtations on the train ride to the cottage. You laughed, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“I think I am too old to do that sober now, need a bit more Dutch courage to go hop in a snowdrift.”

“I’ll make sure to give you a big mug of mulled wine then, angel.” He informed; his expression rather coy. You liked this kind of Hongjoong. Not wanting to drop the tension, you took the tiniest step forward, and murmured, low and slow:

“You go down with me, darling.”

Before Hongjoong could respond to your concealed provocation, a yell from an incredibly vexed Seonghwa near deafened you.

“WHO THE FUCK TURNED ELF ON THE SHELF INTO A STRIPPER? I SWEAR WOO IF IT WAS YOU, I WILL REARRANGE YOU LIKE A LEGO SET-”

“YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE!”

Now that sounded about right for a domestic, festive scene. You and Hongjoong immediately began to search for the exhibit, finding it at the top of the stairs, where an innocent elf was made to be wrapped around one of the railings in a suggestive pose, and when a flash of bright red hair zoomed past you with an ashen blonde ball of anger following right behind, you guffawed, not stopping until your ribs began to hurt.

Poor Seonghwa had yet to find the other elves that were set out in unconventional poses and hidden in random places around the house. You personally had spotted one inside the bathroom cabinet and decided to let it be. Out of sight out of mind. An act commended by San who was tiptoeing out of one of the bedrooms, three more elves dangling from his clenched fist. He had simply given you a nod and placed his free index finger to his lips, which you did too in response, tapping a couple of times to show solidarity.

After the wave of life-or-death tag, and the gathering of the entire group in the living room, with Mingi having finally come down after napping through the majority of the prep, you breezed through setting the table, arranging Secret Santa gifts under the tree by transferring them from a grocery store bag that had been hanging on the office door for a week to avoid anyone having any clues, and then, finally, getting to sit down, take a deep breath, and simply enjoy.

Every bit of this was incredible. The food, the company, heck, even the stripper elf that Seonghwa ended up not having the heart to take down because ‘he did not want to be a Scrooge’. It was obvious that with every passing hour, the buzz was getting to you all, as the chatter was getting louder and louder, the jokes more and more ridiculous, and the questions more and more personal.

You were amidst an animated conversation with Yeosang about wanting to try snowboarding sometime and planning an imaginary trip to some mountain range far away when you were suddenly called for by Wooyoung, who was sitting at the far end of the table from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he slurred a little, having been ‘taste-testing’ the spiced brew since before dinner, “are you dating anyone?” Yeosang grimaced, mouthing a ‘good luck’ to you, knowing that once Wooyoung entered his relationship talk state, he was near unstoppable unless some extreme topic change was made.

“Bro your boyfriend is sitting right next to you, and no thank you I don’t want a threesome.” You quipped, inducing a ripple of chuckles across the group. But Wooyoung would not let up, even though San was repeatedly nudging him under the table.

“Nooo… you know what I mean. Just generally. Like, do you have a designated mistletoe partner?” you did not like where this was going. Not one bit. Hongjoong, who was sitting on the other side of the table, right in front of you, visibly tensed, alarm bells ringing in his head.

“Uh, not at the moment.” You could not exactly lie, nor did you want to, seeing as the person you would not mind taking that role was right there, and for some reason looked oddly fearful.

“Great!” He exclaimed, and in a matter of seconds was standing on his chair, bending over the entire table, holding a mistletoe branch… over the table and not so discreetly changing its angle from you to Hongjoong, and back again.

You locked gazes. Panic rose in your throat. You did not enjoy this feeling; control being taken away from you, your friend toppling you over and shining a spotlight on you. And now a metaphorical knife was being wedged into your heart from having to witness what you perceived to be as total unwillingness in Hongjoong’s every fibre. Did you want this? Yes. Like this? Hell no.

Seconds passed like hours of torture, and each sound seemed to have amplified thousand-fold in volume. Lost, you were unable to decide your next course of action. Logic, your go-to for any situation, had failed. Emotions were a wreck. Oh, how you wanted this to stop. Anything you had hoped for until this moment shattered before you, scattering agonising pieces in all directions.

Was this his chance? It must be. Had he been sitting next to you, the space would have been no more in an instant. But the separation, once again that damn barrier, now also in physical form was preventing him from following through with what he wanted to express. This did not mean that he did not think Wooyoung had pulled a dick move, especially towards you, but Hongjoong had imagined what it would be like kissing you under the mistletoe. Wishful thinking, it seemed. All he could read across the table was discontent, and the recoil unlike that of a cat’s. He was running out of the time that he had wanted to give you.

Before either of you could do anything, Wooyoung gave out a yelp and almost toppled onto the remnants of dinner, saved only by a very quick to react San, who wrapped his arms around the slipping legs and weighed them down. Everyone was quick to turn their heads to the culprit – Jongho who was sitting unperturbed, arms crossed over his chest. Yeosang had been the saving grace, whispering for the youngest to figure something out in ‘Jongho style’. So, taking one of the apples from the fruit bowl, he took aim and hurled it with all his might where the sun did not shine.

“My bad bro, I hit the wrong head.”

Wooyoung was doubled over, and the mistletoe was lying all but forgotten among the randomly arranged side dishes. Seonghwa was failing to stifle a satisfied laugh, while Mingi was quite literally gasping for air, hiding his face in the tablecloth as Yunho was rubbing his back, a grin on his face. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding, and you absent-mindedly picked at your sweater.

“Right!” Hongjoong clapped to get everybody’s attention, wishing for nothing more than to move on from this ordeal. “How about before we get too drunk, we do the gift exchange, yeah? And DJ-Mingi, blast the tunes a little louder, it’s Christmas after all.” He pointed at the taller male, who was currently wiping tears from his eyes, still breathing heavy from the fit of giggles.

“Aye aye, captain!” he saluted and in a couple of strides was at the Bluetooth speakers, which now began blasting Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.

As everyone got up and headed to the huge u-shaped sofa, something stopped you. Mystified, you noticed that the mistletoe branch was gone.

The incident was brushed over soon enough, and the group was now losing their minds over each other’s gifts. This year, there was a very interesting mix of both humour gifts and genuinely meaningful statements, but that was to be expected from a Secret Santa where one of the rules was to ‘go ham’.

Yeosang wiped his forehead in mock relief as he was safe from torment: he received a giftcard to his favourite fried chicken delivery place and a t-shape tool for his skateboard – an ode to his most popular complaint being that the wheels did not feel right, or he swore he had to replace something. Yunho wasn’t quite so lucky, on the other hand, having received a tub of Vaseline with a printed note taped onto it that read ‘for the times that your supervisor fucks you over’ – it was a known fact that his supervisor, an elderly and angry man in his sixties, was notoriously hard to impress, and at this point probably made Yunho lose too many nerve cells.

You were Seonghwa’s Santa this year and tried your best not to show your delight at him basically bouncing on the sofa as he unwrapped the set of holiday-themed lint rollers that you had bought. Then, it was your turn and your friends followed your movements as you searched under the Christmas tree to pick out the gift with your name. Sitting back down on the couch, you spun it in your hands. The container was two centimetres thick and square in shape, leaving you perplexed as to what was behind the wrapping. You initially thought it could be an album by an artist you had been raving about recently but had to delete that from your mind considering it would be way over budget. You peeled away the washi tape that was holding the paper together to be met by a wooden box.

Turning it the right way around, you lifted the lid, and gasped. Inside was a necklace – a thin thread-like gold chain, and on it an intricate pendant – a tiny clock, its hands frozen on eight thirty. You were overwhelmed, but from your lips rolled out one word of gratitude after another. You ignored a now tipsy Mingi booing and calling out that it was probably over budget. Maybe you would have agreed seeing as that was technically a rule but shit, you were over the moon. You flipped the pendant around and spotted a message engraved into the back, so small that it was barely there – only for you to cherish and hold close to your heart.

Forever is composed of nows.

Emily Dickinson, you note. A poem you had quoted, time and time again. But not to just any audience. You look up, cautious. The gift unwrapping had moved on, with Jongho currently being the centre of attention, so you use the chance to seek out the one who you were sure was your Secret Santa. And sure enough, his attention was already on you. As you had wished so many times. Kim Hongjoong. Your Christmas.

He was praying that you would like the present. To the point of mumbling to himself and flittering his fingers over the throw on top of which he was seated. The idea had come to him when he had to stay late in the office, waiting for a response from his supervisor, who he had no idea had already left for the night. As minutes turned into an hour, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, with the outdoor noise having been absorbed by yet another snowfall, the pieces came together.

This quote encapsulated you both. On the one hand, you enjoyed it because the notion of ‘now’ being the way to shape the intangible future motivated you to remain organised, diligent, and focused on a specific path. On the other hand, he respected it for the interpretation that this forever had so many parts that it was crucial to not waste them on fixation and if they were to be captured, it was through the lenses of his beloved cameras. This collection of five words stuck a balance between Hongjoong and yourself, and explained that maybe, you were not quite so different after all.

The rest of the guys were tidying up the wrapping paper and some headed to the kitchen to carry the pot of mulled wine and the saucer, along with a champagne bottle Yeosang had produced out of the blue. You and Hongjoong let this particular ‘now’ continue for a little longer, knowing smiles on your faces, and the previous awkwardness over dinner erased. As you held onto the open box containing the invaluable message, you sauntered over to him.

“Thank you.”

He bit his lip as he lifted his head.

“May I?”

“Yes please.”

You turned and exposed your neck to him, moving your luscious hair to the side. Again, those black patchouli base notes that filled his head with only you. Hongjoong could finally pinpoint the rest of the bouquet, having recalled his housemate explaining the terminology after he had splurged on a luxury cologne and was trying to explain himself. He reached to take the necklace from the box, and not so accidentally caressed the sensitive skin as he clasped the lock. You explained that you wanted to see how it looked, so the two of you made a beeline for the full-length mirror at the entrance into the cottage.

You were inspecting the necklace in the mirror, still in shock at how it spoke volumes, nearing an inexplicable divinity. His body moving on its own accord, Hongjoong, who was standing behind you, gently placed his hands on your hips, and breath hot against your ear, complimented:

“I knew it would look brilliant on you.”

Your attention drifted back to Hongjoong, locking gazes with him through the mirror. He was all smiles, but for a split second you spotted something much more passionate. Intrigued, you wanted to test how far you could go before the man would snap. You were never one to back down from a game like this.

“Thank you, though I don’t think these clothes do it justice.”

“Hm?” you felt his grip tighten just a little, as his eyes shifted to your necklace once more.

“You know, maybe without them it would look even better, don’t you think?”

And there it was. The darkness only you could lure out from deep within him. A distant howl turned into a thunder, rolling across his body in waves. A man ready to do anything to drown in the turbulent river that had tantalised him for so long. A man lost in the silent night, at the beck and call of your voice that haunted him wherever he went. Hongjoong let out a shaky breath, his chest almost flush against your back as he held his head over your shoulder, level and mirroring yours.

“Do you know what you do to me?”

You smirked. He was still so heedful of you, navigating your ever-changing maze ever so slowly. But now, unlike before, you had a guarantee that the Hongjoong you had deemed to be attentive to everyone was, in fact, at your feet. You could finally read how he behaved around you. The adorable shyness, the inability to be alone with you for too long… it all made sense. Cute, precious Hongjoong. It was probably not the best conclusion to come to, but you felt powerful. Until the young man suddenly gripped your waist and spun you around, pulling you towards him until his face was so close you could count his beautiful lashes, study the intricate patterns of his irises, clouded over with emotion he had never revealed before, enticing you. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and lips wet with his saliva.

“I’ll repeat myself, angel. Do you know what you do to me?” the pet name that had stuck with him since when you had decorated the Christmas tree slipped out, making you exhale sharply. You were enjoying this. Boy was getting braver.

You shifted the dynamic once more as you raised the hand that was not loosely holding the box and cupped Hongjoong’s chin, feeling him gulp at your boldness. You pulled away from him slightly, but only to observe as you traced his bottom lip with your thumb. It was so easy to make him melt once, after all these years, you appeared to have figured out the chemistry of Hongjoong. He shuddered under your touch, one hand drifting down back to your hip, attempting to press you against him, which you deny with a teasing poke of the box square in his chest.

“I can make an educated guess, darling.” Two could play the game as you enunciated the words so that each one fuelled his desire. Your index finger trailed under his chin, terminating the sensation with an instantaneous flick.

He groaned, desperate to end this push and pull once and for all, when you completely freed yourself while his mind was still enchanted. You had heard the others, still in the living room, getting louder, with someone loudly asking where you went. As if nothing at all had happened, you gave Hongjoong a lopsided grin and pointed at the doorway, informing him that everyone was waiting. Like hell they were, probably took notice of the absence at random and would have forgotten it then and there. As you ambled away, he bent over, stretching to try easing the unbearable tension under which he had been, thanks to you. Once more, he looked in the mirror, running a hand through his hair a couple of times, and yet the only thing he could see was your reflection.

Much of the rest of the night was dedicated to letting completely loose. Just like that night last year, you were purposefully oblivious to him tracking your every move. Paid no mind to just how attractive you looked, dancing to the pulsating beat of a song by The Weeknd that someone decided to put on. Evidently, champagne had started pouring. The night was turning into a blur for Hongjoong, as he struggled to process his actions. He had to plan something. And that something had to happen sooner rather than later.

He chose to slink away from the room right when now a very drunk San, Wooyoung and Seonghwa were recreating the infamous dance from Mean Girls to Jingle Bell Rock, laughter roaring in his ears and with his departure he finally managed to get you to turn and face him. He beckoned you to come to him with a wave of a hand, and turned to exit into the entrance.

When you followed and joined him, you found he was in the process of zipping up his winter jacket, having already tugged on all the woollen accessories.

“Where are you going? Stuff is wild in there.” You approached him to try and take his hat off, but he sidestepped towards the front door and silently motioned for you to dress up as well. Confused, but too interested to see the outcome of this bewildering proposal, you agreed.

When you signalled that you were ready by giving Hongjoong a double thumbs up, he grabbed the keys from a nearby counter and opened the door letting a chilly breeze hit you. You swore your mind was going through a thousand calculations a picosecond as you were trying to figure out the intentions of the man in front of you. This Christmas was definitely not like any other. As he walked further and further away from the cottage, until the lights emanating from the décor and from within did not hit the snow and you were hidden away from sight by a couple of evergreens, you repeated the quote that was now above your chest to yourself, letting go and trusting the man who was leading you into the landscape.

He stopped, waited until you caught up to him and were standing right next to him. And then, fell right on his back. You squealed in terror, assuming the worst. You peered at him, but were met with a very happy Hongjoong, who spread his limbs into a star shape, and began to wave them around. When you did not move, he stopped and shouted out, disappointment laced through his words.

“Y/N, didn’t you say you were a pro at making snow angels? Show me what you got.”

And just like that, you were also in the snow, giggling like the child you had been when you had done this last. Flailing around, kicking bits up in the air only for it to fall on you or him. You relished in the sensation, since it reminded you of something you had intentionally been repressing for the majority of your life – the ability to enjoy yourself freely, experience things that were not planned ahead and treating your existence as an ongoing work of art.

You were knocked out of your reveries with a snowball landing smack on your nose. You had not realised that Hongjoong had already gotten up and was aiming for another shot. It was on. You skillfully rolled away as he threw the winter weapon, picking up your own ammo as you did so. Once you were on your back again, the snowball was ready, and you got a clean headshot, having aimed for the sowed-on tag on his hat. As he was brushing snowflakes out of his eyes, you rose to your feet, hopping away and throwing two more roughly shaped ones. The game did not continue for long, though, because as you took some return hits you pounced on him, with the plan of attaining payback for the first snowball.

Both of you toppled on the ground and you laughed triumphantly, your body flat against his, nose to nose. While you were trying to push yourself up and get a grip on the ground to either side of Hongjoong, he pulled something out of the breast pocket of his winter jacket, raised it above the two of you, and pointed at it.

“Would you look at that? Guess we have to do something about it. Got any ideas?”

This man was unbelievable. That was one point on the endless list of why you were smitten.

“So that is where the mistletoe went!” you exclaimed, slowly leaning in.

“And this time I am not letting you go.” His promise sounding gruff, he pulled you in by the collar and finally, your lips collided.

The snow that had fallen from your clothing onto him rapidly melted as you sank deeper into the mutual craving. Starting slow, you got to know one another, keen to map out each sigh. You had fantasised about this for so long that it felt like you were in a feverish daydream. But nothing could compare to the real softness of his lush lips, the irresistible nips at yours and how he snaked under your coat and sweater, the coldness sending you into a frenzy.

As you repositioned yourself to gain more closeness, and as such grinded against him, you heard him hiss. He responded to your motion by pulling you closer and, his lips never leaving yours, tilting your head slightly to beg for entrance. You hummed in approval, mouth opening slightly to allow for his tongue to explore your further. Not letting him enjoy all the fun, you joined in the fight for dominance and savoured his addictive taste.

As you pulled away to catch your breath, Hongjoong looked completely at your mercy. Eyes still shut, panting, flushed and filled with want. He was beyond saving, left only as a vessel to be guided by you. There, illuminated by the moon and stars, you were ethereal. Your every angle and shapely curve was one he wanted to adore and worship. Your form, hovering above him, was nothing short of flawless. At the same time, within, you concealed a lethal sin, but one for which he would fall countless times, and willingly sacrifice himself for good. Your melodic laugh rang out over him.

“We are going to freeze out here-” You stated, unable to finish the thought as Hongjoong pulled you in again, growling against your lip and pushing himself against you. You sighed in pleasure as he dragged your scarf down to reveal your neck and planted rough kisses trailing from your jawline, stopping to claim you midway down. As you leaned over and peppered the side of his face with attention and nibbled his ear, sending a shiver through him, you stopped to purr:

“Though it seems you know a way to warm up.”

“You are a devil in disguise, Y/N.”

“Yours truly.”

“Mine?”

“And so are you.”

“Oh, come here.”

This was the kind of Christmas you were willing to enjoy every time of year. Together with the one who completed you in every way imaginable. From your ambition to his artistry, your tendency for timeliness to his tendency for timelessness.

Whilst you were opposites in some ways, you struck an unparalleled balance that made you stronger together. An enciphered, irreplicable chemistry that spelled ‘forever’.

280 notes · View notes

yeah-im-an-amateur · 12 days

Text

Rich sank into the chair with a sigh. George glanced over and noticed his pale face and wry smile.

“She said no, didn’t she.”

“Worse. She didn’t even let me ask.”

George whistled softly, then reached for his Coke in the pocket of his lawn chair. He cracked it open, and the hiss of the releasing pressure punctuated the silence. George knew Rich was head over heels for his sister, but he hadn’t been able to read his sister’s reaction. Throughout the day, he’d noticed as Rich kept trying to get her attention, and he’d remarked to himself on how completely Katie ignored him. It was comical, and crushing at the same time. George liked Rich quite a bit, and wouldn’t mind having him around more often.

“She say anything to you? How’d she not let you?”

“I just walked over to her when she was mostly alone over there, and asked her for a minute. Said I had something I wanted to ask her. She didn’t look at me at all, and just said ‘ummm no? It’s not a good night for me,’ and so I had to just walk away. Told her it was fine, I think. I dunno. I’m pretty sure she knew what I was gonna ask, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t wanna hear it from me.”

George considered this for a minute. He didn’t understand Katie’s attitude at all. He’d thought that she esteemed Rich pretty highly, and he could’ve sworn that she was “into him” a bit. But hell, he couldn’t tell. He’d only been happily engaged to his own girl for a month, and he was still learning the ways of women.

“I dunno. Seems you did it right. I’d’a thought she would’ve given you a chance, at least. What’re you gonna do now?”

Rich leaned over the side of his chair and dug out a Busch from the cooler between them. He fumbled with the tab, then finally opened it and gulped the amber liquid down. Coughing as the alcohol stung his dry throat, he replied, “I really dunno. Do I just ignore her now? Do I leave her alone for a while? I think she’s pretty mad at me or something. You’ve seen her. She’s ignoring me hard. Won’t speak two words to me. She acts like I’m the most despicable thing she’s seen. I couldn’t stand it, and I just wanted to tell her how much I’m gone for her. Solid gone. But I dunno.”

“Hard tellin’. I thought she’d at least hear you say it. You’ve been pretty obviously crushing on her. I don’t know what she wants anyway, man. Better just leave her alone. Hell, I know her. She isn’t worth your attention anyway if she treats you like that. It isn’t friendly of her.”

The men sat quietly, only breaking the silence with the occasional sip of their beverage. Around them the familiar sounds of a barbecue filled the air. Children screamed at each other over a game of football. Burgers and hot dogs sizzled on a grill across the wide yard. George’s father, the host of the party, prattled on with his coworkers and colleagues. Katie and her gaggle of girlfriends grouped around a speaker and swooned over some country singer’s new single. In the lawn chairs the men sat, absorbing the sounds of this suburban dreamer’s paradise.

Finally, George, conscious of his duties as son of the host, broke the silence.

“Cornhole?”

His friend shrugged. “Might as well”

#daily writing practice #my writing #spilled ink #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr

6 notes · View notes

cinnamoncountess · 8 months

Text

Fellow Travelers Rewatch Party | episode 1

Content warning: NSFW, strong language (likely)

This will be mostly a reaction and based on observations, given the knowledge about how things will unfold in later episodes.

What a perfectly beautiful way to start a show! The song flows amazingly with the cinematography and it encloses around the viewer like a warm hug, simultaneously delivers an underlying sadness, the lyrics preparing us of what lies ahead, a tragic love story that yearns to end happily, but won’t. It sets the mood and gently announces with a toe-deep dive that we’re about to journey backwards into a different decade. I love it! <3 (song: Stevie Wonder - If It’s Magic)

Marcus drives down the sophisticated suburban lane to meet Hawk in his perfectly cultivated family nest to hand over the package, according to Tim’s wishes. It’s sweet to know that he supports and protects Tim, because - as we find out later - he knows Hawk and his shenanigans the best.

Promotion party! Lucy and Hawk certainly know lots of people. Also, how many grandchildren do they have? I’d assume the other kids are probably the children their guests brought to the party, playmates of his granddaughter, right? No, wait, Lucy says „grandkids“ - so there are more than one?

Lucy: The grandkids are going to miss Hawk so much when we got to Milan. I don’t know what Kimberly’s going to do. - Hawk’s a beloved granddad.

Hawk: Well, she’ll ship them over in the diplomatic pouch. - The sass and wit never ceases.

Lucy: I almost gave up my dream of moving to Italy with the man I love.

Hawk: In the end, sh settled for going with me. - OH. The foreshadowing, the ambiguity. The HURT. For BOTH of them. My heart.

Did we ever find out how and when Lucy got to meet Marcus, though?

Marcus is sooo distressed about the AIDS situation killing all his friends, his beloved ones around him. I want to hug him!

Marcus: Tim doesn’t want to hear from you. He asked me to make that clear. - It’s another verbalisation of ‚Promise you won’t write’, Tim might have been hoping to hear from Hawk. Then again, of course Tim made sure Hawk will receive the paperweight. It’s the same ‚message‘ that Hawk delivered to him when he left it as a gift before betraying him - to let go. Tim wants to let go.

Flashback to 1952!

Tim ordering a glass of milk, almost snapping at Hawk for questioning his beverage of choice.

The beginning of the milk odyssey…

What a beautifully shot scene, the lighting, the music / score, the switch between scenes, paralleling the scenes between society conform married life of a ‚straight’ man and cruising through park bathrooms - the double life of Hawkins Fuller and preparing us for what lies ahead, truly marvellous.

I think that’s the roughest and most mechanical, unemotional sex we’ll see in the show. Hawk literally punches Eddie like a donkey.

Hawk: Milton. But my friends call me ‚uncle Milty‘ - Cracking up. Hawk, be serious.

Hawk doesn’t care about your little life, Eddie. He got what he wanted. He doesn’t give him his number. Important detail since that’s the first information he receives from Tim, already going one step further than he does with Eddie here.

The small „:|“ glance Mary and Hawk share in reaction to Miss Addison’s disapproval of commies, only the eyeroll and irritated sigh missing. Love Hawk’s and Mary’s interactions and friendship overall, so entertaining how they’ll constantly talk ambiguously.

Tim and Hawk first meeting at the park!

Tim: I have a degree in political science and history. I think I should aim a little higher, don’t you? - Oh, baby, you should! Too bad he’s never got to indulge in a profession that fits his education. But then again, maybe it’s for the best that reoriented his career and found a better path for himself, for his eagerness to be politically vocal! He still became a spokesman.

Tim flusters as Hawk inquires him about memorising his biographical entry! His reaction is sooo endearing. He’s already so smitten.

The banter between them!

Hawk: Down boy. - And so the dynamic starts.

Hawk: Perfect. I’ll spend the afternoon picturing you kneeling in prayer. - Pants flew to the moon, ovaries and peepees exploded!

Smith: Your plan, me in the White House in eight years. - Hawk intending to ‚manipulate‘ his mentor’s career, making him president.

Tim and his little cupboard where he hangs his very few white socks and pants. D: Also, he is a plant person! In this apartment as well as in his 80s one he own quite a bunch of greens.

Jean: … could stand to improve his spelling. You’ll have to do this one again. - Is Tim dyslexic?

The book Tim bestows Hawk with, as a present for getting the job is titled ‚Look Homeward, Angel.‘ Angel. Skippy, in the book apparently, is derived from an angel’s name. So maybe that’s Hawk’s inspiration in the show?

Hawk visits Tim for the first time and wants to take him out for dinner! So much to the ‚we NEVER eat in restaurants!‘-complaint in episode 3. Hawk wanted to take him out to a restaurant before. <3

Tim is very, VERY drastic in his political views, which is a bit concerning, but also understanding, given the historical context.

Hawk asking for consent before lifting Tim to his feet and undressing him, love it.

Tim showing Hawk the family photo album.

Tim: This is uncle Ronald, the drunken designated hopeless sinner of the family.

Hawk: I think you’re giving uncle Ron a run for that title.

Tim: Thanks to you… - and the little smirk, I can’t.

Mary: How are you enjoying ‚Look Homeward, Angel‘?

Hawk: Immensely. Although I have trouble finishing a book before I wanna start another. - he says while he eye-flirts with the next guy standing closeby, oh Hawkins.

Eddie making a scene out in the open, in the hallway…That is very, very awkward and risky and Eddie should know that, not a clever move. I feel for him, for what happens to him later on, but he had it coming, unfortunately. He should’ve let it go when Hawk made clear he doesn’t want further contact during their encounter and then clearly signifies he doesn’t recognize him. It’s like having an ONS or anonymous sex, the rules about how this will go and what it entails are set.

Tim toe-sucking bj-ing himself to the fancy party is still wonderful and he must’ve done a spectacular job to convince Hawk. Also, he’s wearing Hawk’s coat here. Wonder if they acted out the little monologue and Tim really went there with the taste of him in his mouth.

Alsop: My wife says the aroma is somewhat reminiscent of feet. I can promise you it tastes perfectly marvellous. - This is a very feet-heavy episode.

Lucy and Hawk share such entertaining banter moments, I wish they could’ve stayed just really good friends, without all the heartbreak and pain.

Bringing up Lucy is a red rag to Hawk, but Tim just can’t help it. These two have severely different perspectives on life at this point and Hawk told Tim multiple times that he can’t give him what he wants, the life he dreams of, that they can just enjoy these occasional moments of fun together, which of course isn’t enough for Tim, who craves for everything straight couples have, to date his partner openly. It’s not possible in this environment and Tim acts very stubborn and naive here. He is also constituting a great risk for Hawk, who doesn’t shove him away just yet, which is surprising, giving what we’ve seen of him and how cautious he wants to be, leaving no traces endangering his career.

After hearing McCarthy’s speech it’s actually so disturbing and irritating to know that Tim holds onto this man’s ideals so firmly.

Shout out to the beautifully nuanced OST created by Paul Leonard-Morgan.

And that’s it for this episode.

#fellow travelers #fellow travelers rewatch party

18 notes · View notes

skyliv · 5 months

Text

BLEAARRRHGGHH FNAF JUMPSCARE SFX im thinking. this is rlly rushed because my actual thoughts are wayyyy way too strange and everywhere to properly explain. yup.

“Are you sure you’re alright with me waiting in here?” A sweet voice chirped from the suburban home’s quaint living room.

“Of course!” Agnes responded from her kitchen, her back turned from the connected room. She waved her hand over the beverage in front of her. The insides of Wanda’s spell were quite mysterious to her, that did surmount to her reason for being there, but she found a side project. Ever since the town bloomed with color, something happened with one captive… Lucielle Ardei.

The young woman plopped right down on the edge of the main couch, careful not to disturb the peace of the room. She was definitely the type of woman to ask a million questions. Agatha could tell, not just by the demeanor, but more so her thoughts being more prone than an open book.

She was a sweet thing, fitting into Westview just enough, even if her puzzle piece was a bit frayed. Finally in color, Agatha could really inspect her. Curly brown that bordered on maroon puffed up right at her shoulders, framing a round face and just barely brushing her forest green collared shirt. It was layered over a dark purple shirt that mirrored Agatha’s skirt and similarly dark pants. The witch’s own outfit almost bordered on gothic, and she wouldn’t dwell on it, she just wanted to thank her own powers for allowing her to split from that god forsaken neighbor persona.

What she was mainly proud of, however, was being able to get Lucielle inside. A week or so back, when the town was still cast in grays, she put up a flyer under the guise of her husband- The husband she didn’t have. It was for a bird watching event in her yard, it was a miracle she could read Lucielle’s town character enough to ensure she’d be the only one showing up. And with her closer, she could sense something under that blanket of scarlet mist in the air.

Agnes stepped back into the living room, letting her eyes sweep across the floor to see how the new era spell changed its layout. It looked like it was right out of a cottage, dark antique furniture surrounding an ornate fireplace. She holds a small silvery tray, with a pair of teacups and a steaming pot. “He should be out soon, sweetheart,” She assured as she set the saucers on the coffee table. “I could only convince him to be on time if there was alcohol involved.”

Lucielle feigned a smile, cautiously reaching for one of the two lavender teacups. “Well, you’re probably far more hospitable than him,” She says with a tilt of her head, looking up to the witch with a more genuine smile. With the faint narrowing of her eyes, she looked quite proud of using a term that’d confuse any other brainwashed citizen. Agatha brushes her long skirt forward when she sat on the other side of the velvety couch. She lifts her own teacup, and merely blows on it once before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’ve never been praised so sweetly!” Agatha chuckles, waving her free hand, “Maybe you can enlighten me about whatever birds you’ll be watching.”

Lucielle had to let her tea sit for a few moments, blowing on it much to even be able to stomach it. The sip makes her smile when she’s flooded with its sweetness. Agatha smiles as well, her head raising as she practically looks down her nose at the other woman.

The tea was a potion, of course it was, one that’d allow Agatha to see through the spell. That’s when her eyes widened as Lucielle’s appearance appeared to materialize right in front of her. It wasn’t much, but even with her limited knowledge, she could grasp the idea of this girl as a mutant. Thin maroon feathers grow between her curls, and further down they begin to shift into iridescent slate blues. Her brown irises are now a sharp yellow, and faint cream markings surround her eyes. That’s where her interest in birds came from, Wanda’s spell plucked her mutation and crafted it into just another background character’s personality.

It took everything for Agatha not to snap into action right there. Her face falls slack as she takes this revelation in, but she quickly calms herself when Lucielle looks back.

“I do hope the tea is to your liking,” Agnes saves her staring with a comment, and sets down her cup. She can’t help but lean closer after crossing one leg over the other, and her eyes narrow with a faint smile. That smile just grows when Lucielle nods.

“It’s wonderful! I just hope I’ll find where to buy the bags,” She snickered, before sipping again. The warmth of the drink warmed her heart; quite literally, causing her to shudder slightly and ruffle her feathers.

That’s what did it, Agatha pounced as soon as the mutant finished her tea and returns the cup. She cast her hand to the side and swiftly snapped her fingers, summoning wisps of violet smoke to surround Lucielle’s wrists and ankles. Just at the snap, it was like she was snapped out of the Westview curse as well, causing her to yelp with surprise. She tenses up, her hair and feathers puffed as she sits rigid against the couch.

She wasn’t sure how to feel, the snap brought on a sense of panic from the binding spell, but also one of an innate freedom. “What in the- Miss Harkness what are you!?” Her avian squeaks are cut off by quick tutting sounds from the witch.

“Nothing to worry about! Promise!” The witch’s voice has devolved into her Agnes persona as she attempts to console the mutant.

“Is- Is this your house? Why can’t I remember coming? My wings, my bag, my-“ Agatha’s expression tightened at Lucielle’s panicked pleas, she considered putting her back under the spell… But this was more fun. She sends a band of mist to cover the bird’s mouth, before laughing herself. Lucielle responds with a whine, her heart racing like a rabbit’s in a trap.

“I’ll explain, I’ll explain!” Her more devious explanations have devolved into a fit of giggles. She sits back, leaning her back and an elbow on the velvet behind her, leaving her free hand to gesture Lucielle closer. The coaxing caused the spell to tighten, to jerk her seated stance to lean a bit closer. “I can promise you’re safe, dearest, you’re safer here than out there!” Rather than a slower, more menacing movement, she ruffled Lucielle’s bangs and scattered the brown feathers. “I just have one request: sing me a song, my bird, please?” Agatha’s sharp gaze appeared to soften, but not by much, and its quickly replaced by her smile growing. “You are just the darndest thing… How I’d love to know more about you.”

#the bird is a green heron! it’s the species of this particular luce mutant #selfship writing #self ship writing #🔮🧬

9 notes · View notes

leffee · 4 months

Text

Day 17: Coffee-to-go

Sharukh, Zoe, and Vinnie entered a small, local cafe from the somewhat chilly outdoors and immediately started rubbing their arms while standing close to the cash register.

“What do you boys want to order?” Zoe turned to the two while eyeing the menu hanging above. “My usual coffee is here, so I will just take that.”

“Me too.” Vinnie and Zoe eyed Sharukh.

“Really? You have your usual, here? I didn’t know you went to such small cafes.” The former questioned, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I don’t.” Sharukh nodded once. “But a cafe is a cafe, fancy or not, I’m sure they have what I want.” He got closer to the cash register with the other two following closely.

“Hello, how may I help you?” A young lady who seemed to be bouncing on her toes addressed Sharukh.

“I would like Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato with 2 extra shots of espresso, 3 pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup, 2 pumps of hazelnut syrup, 1 pump of caramel syrup, made with almond milk, no ice, extra foam, double blended, topped with light whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, please. Oh, and make it coffee-to-go.” The cashier blinked at him during a pause.

“Of… of course, sir, but could you repeat that again?” She reached for a small notebook and a pen and smiled crookedly causing Sharukh to sigh but he did repeat his order without delay. “Anything else?” She turned to the other two.

“Yes, darling.” Zoe took her turn. “Grande Flat White with an extra shot, steamed coconut milk, 3 pumps sugar-free hazelnut, and extra foam for me.” After the cashier finished scribbling down the next order she looked back up at the trio.

“That’s all.” Vinnie raised his flat palm in the air.

“Really?” Sharukh sat down on the nearest chair as the cashier went to make his and Zoe’s coffees. “If you forgot your money I can pay for you, my generosity knows no bounds after all.”

“Welllll,” Zoe pushed herself in front of the superstar, “mine does not either, I can pay for you, Vinnie, if you’d like.” She half-heartedly glared at Sharukh who returned the challenging stare.

“Nah, I have my money on me.” Vinnie patted his pocket and sat down as well. “I’m just not really a big fan of coffee, I can drink it and all, it just works weird on me.” He shrugged casually.

“Really?” Vinnie nodded at Sharukh’s question. “I see, oh well.”

The two were sitting in comfortable silence while Zoe moved back to look at the endearing desserts on the display and took pictures of some of them. After a minute or two, hers and Sharukh’s coffees were ready, and they took their respective paper cups. Just when they were all about to turn around and leave, the lady behind the counter stopped them. Or rather one of them, “Hey, um, you’re Sharukh, right?” She smiled widely when said person looked back at her and nodded. “Oh my gosh, I’m such a big fan, I-I never thought I’d see you here and, and- can I have an autograph?” She took the same notebook from before and presented it to him with an intense gaze.

“Why, I could never reject such a request from a fan.” Sharukh took the pen and wrote his signature across one of the pages making his fan squeal and thank him profusely. After getting a grateful goodbye, the three friends left the cafe and stood in place for a while, Sharukh and Zoe blowing on their steaming coffees.

“So, where do we go now?” The only one without a beverage asked, looking from side to side.

“Hmm,” Sharukh mirrored his movements. On their right was the road to the park, on their left, a way towards the more suburban area of Downtown City. “Let’s continue in this direction.” He nodded to the left.

“Hm? You want to go away from the city center? Why?” Zoe questioned, taking a trying sip from her cup.

“That lady inside the cafe recognized me, and I’m quite sure the whispering got louder then which means that the paparazzi will most likely be here any minute, and once they are, where are they most likely assume I went, towards the city center with lots of people and shops or to some boring suburbs?” He let the question hang in the air. “Exactly, I’m not in the mood to deal with them today.”

“Ugh, how come the paparazzi never arrive when I come?” Zoe grunted but started walking. However, then her expression brightened, “Wait, psh, whispering? Don’t worry, darling, I’m sure they were talking about moi, which means you won’t have to deal with anyone questioning you today.”

“If you say so, Zoe.” Sharukh and Vinnie exchanged amused glances.

The trio continued on their stroll, with mainly Zoe and Sharukh doing the talking. Vinnie didn’t mind being the quiet one in their company, he barely even knew what exactly they were talking about anyway, something money, wealth and fame-related that he couldn’t really add much onto. However, there came his time to cut in too, when Sharukh took his first sip and almost spat out the drink.

“Eugh, alright, I was not correct, maybe not every cafe makes my favorite coffee the same way. This is so disgustingly sweet, not for my finer tastes at all. Zoe, would you like to drink it?” He reached out his coffee to her, but she shook her head quickly.

“No, thank you, I don’t really fancy too sweet coffees either, I mean it.”

“Hm. I presume it will have to go to the bin then.”

“Wait!” Vinnie interrupted him before he could begin to look for one. “If neither of you want it, I can drink it.”

“Are you sure?” Sharukh questioned doubtfully. “You said you don’t like coffee all that much.”

“Yeah, not that much, but I can drink it. Penny always says it’s never good to waste food and it won’t hurt me.”

“If that’s what you want.” Sharukh handed him would-be his coffee and then continued chatting with Zoe. Every now and then he stole a glance at Vinnie who fortunately seemed to fairly enjoy the hot beverage. “To each their own,” He whispered under his breath.

Their leisurely walk proceeded with the conversation flowing nicely and the cups being emptied steadily. That is until a yawn cut through the air. The first one was nothing revolutionary, but then another came, and then another one, and then one more.

“Vinnie? Why are you yawning so much, you didn't sleep well last night? You were fine just a while ago.” Zoe raised her brows at her friend who every now and then fell a step or two behind them.

“No, it’s not that.” Vinnie covered his mouth to yawn yet again. “That’s the thing I was talking about earlier, that coffee works weird for me.”

“It makes you sleepy?” Sharukh guessed.

“Yeeep, don’t ask how that works, no idea. But like, it makes me veeery drowsy.”

“You should have said so before, should we sit down for a while or…?”

“No.” Vinnie shook his head immediately. “Believe me, that won’t work, I will be like that for a while too but no biggie.”

Sharukh exchanged a look with Zoe who simply shrugged. They weren’t anywhere near any of their houses, and Vinnie looked like he was about to fall asleep standing right there and then and if that happened, well, he wouldn’t be standing for long.

“Alright, come on.” Vinnie eyed Sharukh with dimmed confusion, but the other paid no mind to that and with one swift movement picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Woah.” Vinnie chuckled while Zoe sighed dreamily.

“So strong!”

“I don’t deny that,” Sharukh grinned and adjusted his grip on Vinnie who was already making himself comfortable even if with subdued energy, “but honestly, he’s just really light.”

“Ah, that’s true. But you know what? Now the media most definitely won’t find or recognize you.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t think anyone would expect to see you physically carrying someone instead of it being the other way around.”

“You might be right. Vinnie?” But the other was already asleep. “Oh well, once he wakes up, I will tell him he has a new job.”

“You want him to be on your shoulder each time you go outside?”

“Precisely.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something about those two, elegant, famouse and rich people doing stuff together and then there's just Vinnie rubs me the right way. He's just kinda there.

#lps 2012 #may prompts #day 17

4 notes · View notes

vidavs-refectorium · 20 days

Text

Brinley Briggs [Chaotic Player]

Almost seventeen when he was invited to Chaotic, Brinley is eighteen as of Tangath's return to the Spiritlands. Leanly framed and around five-foot-nine, he stands a tad short beside his friends. He is somewhat recognizable with his long, wavy black hair, dark eyes and olive complexion. When the weather in Perim isn't too warm, he often garbs in a deep gray zippered sweatshirt. Beneath that, he wears a plain maroon shirt, and below he wears navy blue jeans and light sneakers tailored for the traveling the wilderness. In rain or snow, or just when he wishes to keep to himself, the hood to his sweatshirt is risen. In times like that, he's more likely to be seen holding his trademark beverage of some Port Court coffee, and wearing earbuds hooked up to his scanner. More reserved and easygoing than most players, Brinley's friends don't often see him smile.

A mere few Chaotic players from Chaotic’s working stages are around today. When the Port Court alpha launched, developers selected a hundred players for initial testing. The criteria was different to today–players were handpicked for being consistently active online on top of being the best, and over eighteen. Instead of characters without context, proper messages were distributed. The beta stage followed this protocol with slight changes. Double the participants, relaxed skill requirement and a minimal age of sixteen. By the time Chaotic was ready for the public, most of the test players were gone. Be they were coded, banned, lost their scanner, or interest, what were hundreds became tens. One such oldtimer, Brinley Briggs, keeps to himself.

Brinley recalls those working days as tight knit. The playerbase smaller then, players knew each other better. But Brinley kept a low profile to start, more interested in exploring Perim than making friends. An escape from suburban Rhode Island had plopped into his lap that he wasn’t wasting. His best friend and classmate, Will Foster, also played Chaotic but not enough to be a tester. Though he could become eligible someday. Still, Brinley never mentions Chaotic, knowing Will wouldn’t believe him.

Beta questing was a thrill, being the first to explore a location no player had tread yet. Meeting creatures with unbiased thoughts of humanity. Well, before several players tarnished their reputation. It was as wondrous as it was unpredictable. Looking back on those days, Brinley finds it miraculous he wasn’t coded. A few codings were evaded thanks to a civilian creature companion. However, said friend has become increasingly unreachable.

When Chaotic was ready, Brinley could count the veterans who knew him on one hand. He was good at the game but not great, and rapidly dropped ranks when Chaotic went public. People only knew him through matches, and his numbered screen name isn’t easy to remember. Brinley left hardly an impression, as he preferred. But a few eyes would be on him after the Maelstrom Lands.

That month was going poorly for Brinley, mostly to do with family and friends. Will moving away for cinematography wasn’t helping. For peace of mind, Brinley frequented deserted locations. The brooding Maelstrom Lands suited his needs. A warrior named Clodor lives here but never turns up. Accessing the location is treacherous, deterring most creatures. Most only come to appease the Eye of the Maelstrom, a nexus of mugical harmony. So long as Brinley avoided the Eye, he’d encounter no one.

Last tribute went chaotic. Mipedim muge Sobtjek, followed by tribesmen Ario, Zhade and Ubliqun, were to offer the Eye an Interlude of Consequence mugic. But some UnderWorlders wanted it for themselves. Zalvar, Kughar, and Krekk, equipped with spectral viewers, ensnared the Mipedians, plus a random human, and stole the mugic.

Najarin himself foresaw these events, and the discord that may follow. Aided by the human and his friends, they and the Mipedians intervened. The UnderWorlders underestimated the humans, losing the mugic and then the battle. Najarin blasted Zalvar, sending Krekk and Kughar running scared as the humans helped Sobtjek deliver the mugic to the Eye.

Krekk and Kughar escaped, but Zalvar became lost in Maelstrom’s maze. Weeks after, players described him as wasting away, and being hunted by OverWorlders. Despite the ongoing hunt, Brinley still walked the Maelstrom Lands, eyes peeled for Zalvar. Not just because he was dangerous, but the chance he might compromise. Though Zalvar’s thievery was bad, Brinley suspected he, a muge, didn’t know about the Maelstrom. Though getting ditched was common with UnderWorlders, he was still left for dead by this tribesmen. Also, a brief history of the OverWorlders had soured his thoughts on the tribe, like how they treat some prisoners. Brinley wouldn’t wish such treatment upon his worst enemies.

As luck would have it, Brinley heard a familiar voice as his song faded. Just ahead, the ground gave way to a shallow drop. Not far below rested Zalvar. The creature sniffled while examining stains of red in his ruffled fur. Either the rocks or the OverWorlders had just scraped him up. Zalvar looked up to see the staring human. He scolded but didn’t attack Brinley, likely to conserve his meager energy. Brinley recalled his idea. He’d never been to the UnderWorld but had scans. Surely some UnderWorlders would attempt a rescue? Brinley offered his aid and, expectedly, Zalvar told him off and stood to leave.

“Okay, but if you change your mind,” said Brinley while turning, “you know where to find me.”

Brinley reclined against a rock near the cliff, waiting to see if Zalvar would have second thoughts. Shortly after, battlegear blasts echoed from far, as did other voices. As quickly as it came, if left. Then, minutes later, Brinley saw Zalvar coming around the corner. Part of his leg was charred, and one shoulder now bore a fresh clawmark. Zalvar looked to the cliff, and revealed himself. “Alright,” Zalvar exhaled.

After finding a cavern to hide inside, Brinley headed for Chaotic. Zalvar needed food, and the Port Court was bottomless, as demonstrated by PeytonicMaster. Promising an anxious Zalvar he’d return, Brinley ported. In Chaotic, he placed a massive order of meats and water, plus a coffee for himself. Returning, Zalvar scarfed down everything, including the coffee when he snatched the sweet drink for a taste. Brinley mentioned porting to UnderWorld City for help. Zalvar suggested Khybon, their builder cyborg. To find him, Brinley sought Khybon’s sidekick, Jiggorex. First, he visited his Perim stash at Igslo Lighthouse to assume a mask-and-cowl disguise.

In UnderWorld City, Brinley tracked Jiggorex to the Infernal Inn. Approaching him, the disguise lasted all of ten seconds. Still, Jiggorex believed Brinley when he explained Zalvar’s predicament. Hopping into his vehicle, they floored it to Khybon’s Forge. Inside the workshop chambers, Khybon listened to Brinley’s request, and was willing to help. He sent Brinley back to Zalvar with a communicator, and a tiny battlegear the boy didn't recognize for self defense.

Returning to the cave, Brinley handed Zalvar the communicator, which contained a tracker. Khybon said he and Jiggorex were inbound by hovercraft. However, the OverWorlders had followed the scent of the meat. The cavern went deeper, and the two retreated into its depths. As they moved in the dark, Brinley confirmed Zalvar didn’t know of the Eye of the Maelstorm. UnderWorld education was nonexistent, even for Perim standards. Zalvar asked if Brinley pitied him. That was a smaller reason.

He certainly proved it when they found another mouth out the cavern and became separated by the OverWorlders. Brinley ran into a dead end, and spun around to face Wytod, an OverWorld muge. The stag attempted to question him, but Zalvar arrived. Wytod followed Brinley’s eyes to Zalvar’s, about to attack. But Wytod was one of the stronger OverWorlders. The pressure overcame Brinley, and he drew the battlegear Khybon provided. Pulling the trigger, a narrow but powerful laser sliced one of Wytod’s antlers clean. The muge collapsed in agony, opening Zalvar to knock him unconscious. Brinley instantly regretted this, Wytod was one of the good OverWorlders. But Zalvar needed that chance, and it could’ve gone worse.

The hovercraft was visible now, and they got moving. The other OverWorlders, Attacat and Targubaj, also converged on the landing zone. Khybon and Jiggorex landed and engaged them. Between Zalvar casting Melody of Malady and Khybon outmatching Attacat, the OverWorlders were knocked down long enough for everyone to embark the hovercraft and bail. Khybon assured they wouldn’t be pursued as Brinley returned his laser, and a contemplative Zalvar gave another thank you. While the OverWorlders never saw his face, Brinley was aware his choice was a point of no return. Not that the OverWorlders’ approval mattered, anyway.

Once returned to UnderWorld City, Khybon and Jiggorex brought Brinley and Zalvar before Chaor himself, at his castle throne. Beside him stood Agitos and Takinom, and together they composed the Infernal Trifecta. Their dreadfulness heard the report with suspicion, mostly towards Brinley’s motives as he noticed the human’s blue scanner. Thankfully, KidChaor had improved Chaor’s thoughts on humans, and he believed Brinley when he denied allegiance with the OverWorlders. If anything the UnderWorlders were looking more favorable now. Something about them was appealing. Then dismissed, Brinley and Zalvar revisited Infernal Inn, where Krekk still ate. A cathartic Brinley sauntered for the alleyways as Zalvar pummeled that traitor.

Here, he reflected on what transpired until a girl came. Brinley knew Kara Morant from past matches, and for her being the ghost whisperer. She heard about the rescue and, while advising future caution, commended Brinley. He mentioned his newfound interest in UnderWorlders, and she provided directions to a human hangout in the city, should he stick around.

Later, Brinley followed the instructions to an abandoned building within a deserted backstreet. Inside was a decently furnished space, where Kara and FireKing, the kindest UnderWorld enthusiast, sat. The three played cards and talked UnderWorlders, which resurfaced the topic of Rarran. A jailbreak at the Pits injured him out of guarding. Kara bandaged his wounds, which she wished to check. They ported to the Pits, where Rarran recovered in a cabin.

Batman was friendlier than Brinley imagined. Even whepcrack-wielding Dardemus wasn’t so bad. The tribe had their faults, but Brinley misjudged them. Many were just troubled by circumstance. There was also a freedom and straightforwardness to the culture that Brinley enjoyed. In time, Brinley became a regular, making more rapports with UnderWorlders. He even took up part time at Infernal Inn to afford city trinkets. Inside, Zalvar occasionally asks for more coffee. He repainted his scanner red. Brinley joined the club, but avoids the fanclubs.

Zalvar told Brinley about the M’arrillians’ reemergence. Both forgetting the story of the Doors, word of a fifth tribe inside was shocking. From the relative safety of UnderWorld City, they heard trickles of news. The chieftain Milla’iin was brainwashing UnderWorlders, even humans. All M’arrillians could, and they quickly enslaved hundreds, including Khybon. Mill’aiin made him dam lava flows. To what end was uncertain until where lava once bubbled now ran putrid soups of contaminated water. The M’arrillians sought conquest. As much as Brinley wished to free Khybon, Zalvar forbade it, and the boy lacked experience questing the badlands.

Soon, Milla’iin’s pocket reached the Marsh of Murk, an oil field. The Infernal Trifecta saw their chance to fry those fish and took it. They parted the capital with a handful of warriors and the gargantuan annihilizer. Rarran was one of the creatures chosen. He enjoyed one last meal at Infernal Inn before leaving, where Brinley wished him good luck and to stay vigilant. But Rarran didn’t return. None of the UnderWorlders did, either being brainwashed or put on the run. Like with Phelphor, the Marsh of Murk was a diversion. With several of their best far from UnderWorld City, the M’arrillians, enforced by Van Bloot and his forces, launched a stealth siege with the undercity tunnels. Kara sensed it, and tried to get Brinley and Zalvar to warn the leadership. But they weren't there and it was too late as devastation was wrought outside.

Kara ran to help friends, as Brinley and Zalvar aided fellow tribesman Rothar in gathering warriors. The streets ran with scrambling UnderWorlders, and glowed sickly with brainwashing M’arr. Javelin eels swam overhead, and giant crustaceans wrecked buildings. Debris rained and fires ignited. UnderWorlders attacked M’arrillians, or each other, be they brainwashed or complicit in the siege. Amidst the chaos, the trio found Ultadur and Narfall while cutting down waves of M’arr grunts, kha’rall fighters. On Chaor’s Castle grounds, they saved Nivenna, a pupil of Takinom who tried in vain to find her. They picked up gladiator Lyssta as she fled UnderWorld Colosseum, and bumped into High Muge Kopond and his Pyrogenousists.

The party attempted to repel the enemy. However, so many had been brainwashed, or worse. The battle was already lost. All they could do was find vehicles and flee. Not before Zalvar saw Krekk among Bloot’s forces. Furious with the traitor, he charged Krekk and the two fought. Zalvar only stopped when Brinley returned him to his senses. He released Krekk and they piled into a viledriver to make their escape.

Brinley became the party’s scouting eyes as they trekked the UnderWorld badlands. He was also their link to other survivors, like Kara’s pocket of creatures. Together in the Port Court, they scoured for helpful hearsay. The search led them to a trio of adolescent players called the Crew. Other chieftains beside Milla’iin now roamed the UnderWorld. They and their reinforcements were sweeping for the stragglers. Chaor’s group was still out there.

All three Crewmates Brinley knew. He and Kara had encountered Morgan, a rare M’arrillian dude at UnderWorld metal concerts before. Their OverWorld fanboy, Damon, is a quiet player with good aim. Their Danian girl and also beta player, Alex, has a reputation for sneaking around Mount Pillar and evading capture, to Odu-Bathax’s annoyance. The Crew hadn’t strong ties with the UnderWorlders, but they still detested what the M’arrillians and Van Bloot did to the UnderWorld. Hearing Brinley and Kara were helping the getaways, they volunteered to assist however they could.

Kara returned to her friends as Brinley and the Crew tried finding Chaor's party. Damon and Alex wielded battlegear from their own stashes, and Brinley had managed to sneak Khybon's laser from his forge before. Though alive, as the M’arrillians were in pursuit, their location remained unknown. The players could only go on faint trails, until Brinley saw Chaor’s handiwork in a burning trail of kha’rall fighters. Most were dead, but others attacked while dying. Clearing out, they soon found dampened Earth, where Brinley discerned Chargola and Illazar’s footprints. Both were at the Marsh of Murk. They could’ve been brainwashed, but Brinley and the Crew still proceeded in the direction the tracks stopped.

Hours passed with nothing. Then, the whistling stillness of the badlands was disrupted by distant booms. Nearby, Chaor and what remained of his party engaged a swarm of M’arrillians. The Trifecta were still free, but Chargola had been brainwashed. He clashed with a weakened Illazar and Agitos, who wasn’t much of a fighter. Damon shot Chargola’s back with his liquilizer, diverting attention onto the Crew. The defocus from the UnderWorlders helped in taking the M’arrillians down.

After assuring the Crew wasn’t brainwashed, Chaor questioned their motives. Seeing Brinley among them, he listened when they explained everything. Brinley called Kara, who put Rothar on the line so that the Trifecta could form a rally point. When someplace was decided, each party hurried, for more M’arrillians were inbound. Racing across the badlands, they all shot down the invaders who tried to impede the rendezvous. Along the way, Brinley became better acquainted with the Crew. Despite being tribal opposites, he and Damon jibed over exploration, battlegear and favorite OverWorlders. Morgan shared several of his beloved bands, including the one Morg is in. He and Alex shared tips on risky questing, their respective tribes and either’s future relations.

What seemed like an age crawled as the M'arrillians just kept coming. The three parties stayed strong, and the Crew kept pitching in where possible, until the UnderWorlders could all see each other. The reunion celebration was short as bleak news arrived. The M’arrillians, seeking to box them in, were barricading exits to the OverWorld. The hourglass flipped, the UnderWorlders made haste to the nearest passage at Cordac Falls.

Brinley and the Crew, knowing the climb would be perilous even without M’arrillians, ported overground. Around the falls, they informed nearby OverWorlders of the impending arrivals. The Crew followed a clutch of them to the Falls, to assist the climbing UnderWorlders and keep the M’arrillians underground. Battlegear in hands, they stood at the cliffs, opening fire unto the Deep Ones who tried bringing as many UnderWorlders down as they could.

Some didn’t reach the top. Many still did, including the Trifecta and Zalvar, Jiggorex and Nivenna. The M’arrillians were eliminated, leaving no witnesses. Zalvar said he was in Brinley’s debt, again. Brin told him not to worry about repayment. As Chaor swore the OverWorlders to deny they were ever here, Brinley thanked the Crew. They made a good team, and Brinley to quest with them again before he and Kara followed the UnderWorlders in search of a place to hide.

The party settled in a cavern beside Rokarr Ravine, an OverWorld location Brinley visited in the beta days. Returning here was nostalgic, and bittersweet. Chaor learned what knowledge Brinley and the humans knew of the Tribal Alliance. It was known the leaders conferenced in the Library of Kiru City. That was where Chaor sent Rothar, Kopond, Narfall and others, to join the Alliance and be his eyes and ears.

Indeed, Brinley would accompany the Crew on future quests. When Mount Pillar’s reservoir became poisoned, he and Crew helped relocate Danian belongings. When Ihun’kalin and his army assaulted Al Mipedim, they escorted civilians the Tribal Alliance couldn’t reach to safety. That quest, they encountered a teenaged girl named Kelli with the worst luck with getting her transport code. She was new, but helped out big time. So, she stuck around. Being a Mipedian player, they now had one per each tribe, if you don't count Prexxor.

Between quests, Brinley swung by Rokarr. Rothar and his party had joined the Alliance. Despite the tribes’ efforts, the M’arrillians still covered ground. Soon, they’d be knocking on the Gates of Kiru City. Worse, rumors spoke of a M’arrillian superweapon, bound for Glacier Plains. Fortunately, a few UnderWorld stragglers had reached the ravine, carrying the telebracers Chaor and his commandos stole from the Arsenal. Even better, Chaor the Fierce was realized. When the time came, the UnderWorld would strike from the shadows.

It was a solid plan, that Zalvar didn’t want the humans in Perim for. A final battle imminent, Perim was too dangerous. Brinley protested, but Zalvar convinced him otherwise. “You’ve played your part,” he said. Of the Crew, he and Kelli stayed in Chaotic. From their second-floor table in Chaotic, the two could only watch through the scanners of who stayed, and wait. In Perim, they checked in with Morgan and Alex, who helped repel M’arrillians from a flooding Mount Pillar. Damon and Emily O'Neill, this girl who runs a Perim blog called the Perizine, hunkered with Vidav the Peacemaker and other creatures in the tunnels beneath Kiru City. Things seemed hopeful, until the mind wave.

The Alliance had sent a volunteering Maxxor behind the Doors via telebracers. There, he would bring the M’arrillian ruler, Aa’une, to Lake Blakeer. According to their adviser, ol’ Tartarek, its dark waters would weaken him, forcing the M’arr to negotiate. Rothar informed Chaor, who teleported there to assist. The two allied and teleported Aa’une to Blakeer, but it was a trap. Tartarek, actually brainwashed, brought Aa’une someplace his powers would intensify. The Oligarch underwent an eldritch transformation, and unleashed the mind wave that barreled towards Kiru City.

Emily and Damon were still underground when it hit. They were spared from what happened to those overground. The Alliance leaders were brainwashed. But the UnderWorlders, with mindbanded allies, soon approached the city gates. The two sides clashed in a battle that soon spread into the streets. It was a night of fire, with neither side gaining significant ground. Though, more creatures were being brainwashed.

At Blakeer, Chaor and Maxxor–well, Iparu posing as Maxxor, fought Aa’une until Maxxor arrived bedecked in the storied Xerium Armor. Iparu stood in as the real Maxxor found the impenetrable armor. Combining attacks, the three used the waters which gave Aa’une strength against him, ending the Oligarch. With Aa’une’s death, the M’arrillans lost control of their brainwashed. Unknown to the Alliance, the late leader was the source of those brainwashing powers.

Relief washed over Brinley as he and a cheering Kelli watched the M’arrillians be driven out through Emily’s scanner. Further relief came when Damon and Emily confirmed Zalvar, Rarran, Khybon and the others Brin knew were alive and well. “I knew they could do it,” he whispered to himself beneath the crowd.

The transport system reopened a week later, just in time for the UnderWorlders’ reclamation of their city from Van Bloot. The M’arrillians on the run, the Gothos Phalanx was outnumbered. Chaor even denied Bloot Gothos Tower, forcing him into cowering behind the Doors as his followers scattered. When all was done, Brinley, the humans and their freed UnderWorlder friends celebrated at Infernal Inn. Half the ceiling was missing, but it was enough for a party before rebuilding began. Creatures from other tribes came, whom Brinley curiously saw Zalvar mingle with.

Post Invasion, Brinley hangs with the Crew, sometimes joining their quests. OverWorld trips he often sits out but exceptions arise, like the Perithon trainwreck and when Dranakis Threshold was learned to be a portal to the past. Visiting ancient Perim, the Crew made the wildest discoveries. Brinley understood Chaor’s spotty family history with Kiru as an ancestor. He never thought Najarin was that old, that Mipedian Territory was once jungles, or that Danians were once more than just ants. Like a rollercoaster, it was exciting, and brief as Van Bloot reared his ugly ahead. He coveted the power of Dranakis for all the wrong reasons. Thankfully, Najarin destroyed the portal before Bloot could timewarp amid a clash between the Gothos Phalanax and a mixed-tribe party of interveners.

“As fun as it was, it’s best this way,” said Emily. After Dranakis, the Crew and her pitched in with the decontamination of the Riverlands. The day ended with saving an ex-M’arrillian in hiding. Most Emily, who used herself as a living shield, and tanked an attack from Attacat. Vidav then intervened, and the conflict was resolved. Emily has also stuck with the Crew since. Brinley gets along with her well but not as much as Alex or ironically, Damon.

Word spread like wildfire when Kaizeph, City of the Elements, arose from Lake Ken-I-Po. The Crew has yet to explore it, being mobile, airborne and difficult to obtain scans of. Kaizeph’s rediscovery happened from another lost city found, Kehn-Sep in Mipedim. The fresh digsite offered the Crew many artifacts to observe. From the fallout of the Perithon birthed a crosstribe racing scene. Occasionally, the Crew will spectate, or sign up. When Batog manifested in the OverWorld, Kara sensed a disturbance and asked the Crew to investigate with her. They saved some dozen creatures from the wrathful spirit. When the chaos ended at Runic Grove, they learned about Tangath and Spiritlands at the Glacier Plains memorial. Placing trinkets of tribute onto the monument, Brinley and Damon wished Tangath brighter days after everything.

Siding with the UnderWorlders. Fifth tribe bringing temporary unity. Rolling with the Crew. Perim time travel. Looking back, Brinley never saw it coming, and he doesn’t know what to expect next. All he knows is with the fallout of the Invasion, the incident at Dranakis, spreading word of the Spiritlands and the return of Kaizeph, Brinley isn’t the only one in unforeseen territory. The secrets will spill.

"Yeah, a lot of players are fifteen or sixteen when they get a transport code. They get like, really excited, knowing the creatures are real. Except, they didn't read the lore and port to Perim to learn the tribes are way more complicated than the two or three lines. Yeah, even I read the lore and I wasn't ready."

"I don't know when exactly creatures started hating humans. Maybe it was something over time? I know the devs regretted some of the test players they chose, and they should. One time they shut down the transport system for a whole two days. No one said why, but I got stuck in Perim. At least I had someplace to stay."

"The human hate is mostly from the warriors. When it comes to the civilians, it really depends. Danian civilians are the warriors, so yeah. UnderWorlders are well, UnderWorlders, but a lot of them won't attack you if you behave. Same for the OverWorld, but a lot less bite. A lot of the time, they just give you those nasty stares because outsider. Or they just pretend to like you. Mipedian civies are usually pretty chill. Just don't mess with their water."

"Have you ever heard of a creature who got addicted to coffee? I gave Zalvar a coffee problem. Hey, he took that first coffee without my permission. And telling an UnderWorlder no doesn't always go well, especially when it comes to drinks. I try to moderate Zalvar's coffee consumption, and make him brush. I've known CodeMaster Amzen since she joined the council. She doesn't take stuff like that lightly. She can be worse than Hotekk. Firsthand experience, I'm never breaking the rules again."

"OverWorlders and UnderWorlders? How they started hating each other could have been resolved like, ages ago. But we're way too deep in now. The M'arrillian Invasion was never gonna be enough for total peace. They're not at each other's throats like before, but it'll be a while before either of those tribes takes Vidav and his treaty seriously. Poor Vidav, though. Emily said he took up drinking after the Perithon. I knew him, he never touched that stuff before."

"What are the biggest issues in UnderWorlder culture? Well, besides fighting over everything, uh. I don't know how else to put this, daddy and mommy issues. Lack of discipline, or the right kind. I mean, the problems are because of what they're born into, and it's not like they can just move to the OverWorld. Some players say they're a lost cause, but Kara and FireKing and I, we don't think so. I think anyone can change, almost anyone. Tribalism isn't as hard to shake as like, religion, and with Perim it's not exactly just faith. A lot of stories are true, for better or worse."

"UnderWorlders do have drugs. They're just potions and plants. I mess with them at hangouts or concerts, sometimes. I would not recommend them, you will see some spooky stuff."

#Chaotic cartoon #Chaotic TCG #UnderWorlders #OverWorlders #Chaotic players #OC

2 notes · View notes

mult1aes-moved · 2 months

Text

@frithlaoch, noah hale sent to lydia martin: set the scene. 037. an halloween party in a suburban house.

lydia entered the dimly lit suburban house, her eyes adjusting to the flickering orange lights and the assortment of halloween decorations scattered around. the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and the upbeat music of the party. she was used to them, yet, here she was, trying not to attract attentions. even though, she used to like it when the spotlight were on her, right now though, she had grown out of it and could share a bit of it with someone else. while she sips on her beverage, she looked around her and spotted noah across the room, leaning casually against a wall with a drink in hand, his costume—something effortlessly cool—standing out among the crowd. typical. she thought to herself as she navigated her way through the revelers, a confident smile playing on her lips as she approached him. “ noah, ” she called out over the music, her voice carrying an edge of playful challenge. “ i see you’ve managed to make it to the party without losing your cool. impressive. ” she paused in front of him, looking him up and down with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “ i have to admit, i didn’t expect to see you here. i figured you’d be out causing some sort of mischief instead of attending a suburban halloween bash. what’s the occasion? ” lydia’s gaze swept around the room, taking in the festive chaos before returning to noah with a grin. “ care to show me what you’ve been up to, or are you just here to look mysterious and aloof? ”

#frithlaoch #ii. / lydia martin.#iv. / answered.#iv. / prose.#iii. / noah + lydia. / frithlaoch.#are they going to be the death of me?#i think they are.

3 notes · View notes

sunny6677 · 1 year

Text

Flames.

Summary: Skid is saved from a situation he never thought he'd be in. But now he has to heal from everything he went through. And he doesn't know how.

Chapter 1: Somehow, He Had Been Saved.

TWS: KIDNAPPING IMPLICATIONS, DISSOCIATION IMPLICATIONS, CIGARETTE MENTIONS, ALCOHOL IMPLICATIONS????, FIRE, IMPLIED ABUSE, IMPLIED TRAUMA, SERIOUS ANGST.

(SERIOUSLY. SKID GOES THROUGH A LOT IN THIS SHIT. BE WARNED. YES, THIS IS A STORY ABOUT HIM SLOWLY HEALING FROM HIS TRAUMA, OR AT LEAST TRYING TO. BUT THAT DOESNT MEAN ITS NOT SOMEWHAT DARK. BE WARNED. DONT WORRY THOUGH, IT DOESNT ROMANTICIZE ANY OF THE DARK THINGS IN IT THOUGH. IT IS POTRAYED AS A BAD THING. THIS IS JUST ABOUT SKID HEALING FROM A BAD EXPERIENCE.)

(I ALSO PARTIALLY WROTE THIS STORY TO KINDA COPE WITH MY TRAUMA, SINCE WRITING ABOUT PEOPLE SLOWLY HEALING FROM THEIR TRAUMA KINDA MAKES ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT MY OWN EXPERIENCES.)

————

Somehow, Skid had been saved.

For a long while, he was in what seemed like an eternal hell. All because he had decided to trust someone he didn't know. All because they lured him in, and captured him before he could even get out. Out of the chambers, he did not ever once go. Behind the door, which felt more like a set of bars containing him in his cell, he stayed.

Because of that man he didn't know, he suffered. He could not remember the name of the man, for the man did not ever once tell him his name. All he could remember were certain details about him. Having been stuck with him for so long would make him bound to notice a few things here and there. The man had caramel brown eyes with no glimmer inside them. His skin was an abnormal pale white color, and he had a slight beard on his chin. His hair was messy and dark brown, and it went all the way to his neck as if he hadn't cut it in years. He always wore white button ups, along with some strange black jeans, and some sandals.

The house that belonged to the man had been odd in its own way. It was near no house, it was very far from all of the houses in Skids suburban neighborhood in fact. But it was still very close. It sat beside a beach, very close to the collection of orange sand. The house was very small, and on the outside, it was white with a dark brown roof on the top. It was a one-floor house, having only one staircase which led to the basement. Inside, the house was different.

There were constant different scents. An odd smell Skid could never quite place. The smell of something foul, the smell of occasionally bacon and some other food Skid had never once gotten to eat, another mysterious smell he couldn't quite place(though anytime he did, he could have sworn he heard the clinking of a bottle or something like that. Perhaps it was a drink?). There were flies that buzzed and darted, and everyday no matter what Skid did, there would always be another one.

The living room had a dark fuzzy floor, with a broken down TV sat upon a small glass table. There were always new mugs and cups on the brown table in front of the fuzzy worn down red couch every single day, and there was no telling if they'd be broken the next day or not.

In the kitchen, the blinds would always be tightly shut, for the man did not want anyone to know of the secret he held. The secret of Skid having been there. The man knew well that if someone were to come out there, they'd recognize Skid if they even saw one small peep of him. The neighborhood was small despite its big layout of buildings and roads. Most of everyone probably would recognize Skid if they saw his face, considering that after he had been captured, there must have been reports regarding his vanishing. The fridge was always flickering, and held various food and beverage items inside(such as ice-cream, some expired can of beans, and some strange bottle of liquid the man forbade Skid from touching).

Skid had been made to stay inside of the basement. He didn't know why, but the man seemed intent on making Skid his own child. Perhaps he had been wrapped up in some kind of delusion. It was unclear. Down in the basement, Skid had a makeshift bed, and nothing more. He wasn't allowed out at all, and he had been made to never wear his costume again, for the man thought it was childish. Skid begged to be able to wear his costume, but the man refused, lashing out at him. Skid had learnt that he was to never speak unless spoken to, for he would be yelled at less that way. And there was a lesser chance of being hurt.

Yet somehow, he had been saved.

It had been night time, the cool breeze brushing against the sand, and the faint sound of ocean waves rubbing up against eachother. The man was watching TV, and Skid had decided to try and take a slight peek out of the basement. He had intended on sneaking out just to grab some food for himself, or whatever little food the man had. But then, he noticed something.

The front door was slightly open. The man forgot to close it.

A flicker of an idea flashed into Skid's mind, and he had widened his eyes upon realizing it. There was a chance of escape! Maybe there was a way out after all!

Skid slowly began to sneak toward the door, eager to finally a way out. Oh, he could see it! He could run back to the neighborhood he lived in, and he could see everyone again! He could tell everyone what happened, and he wouldn't be hurt anymore! But.. he felt such a pang of anxiety. What if something went wrong? What if he were to narrowly make it to the neighborhood, and then the man would somehow catch up with him and drag him back to the dreaded house?

For the first time in a while though, he found that he didn't care. He wanted to see his mom again. Pump, Susie, Kevin, Frank. He even wanted to see Roy again of all people. Just someone else other than that man.

As he crept toward the door though, he stepped on a loose floorboard. And it creaked. And in that moment, he realized.. the sound was loud enough for the man to hear. He heard the man call his name, asking, "Was that you?". It was so.. unsettling. How the man had kidnapped him, and yet acted as if he were Skids caretaker. He could switch moods so fast, it was hard to even predict what he'd do next.

He didn't answer. He decided to make a break for it.

The man heard him, and dashed behind him, as if he had somehow heard him. Suddenly, Skid felt himself being lifted up by the collar of his ragged shirt that he had borrowed from the man(since surprisingly, the man wasn't that cruel), and suddenly there was what sounded like fire.. and a feeling of agonizing warmth coming from all sides, and..

...suddenly, he was here now.

He was outside of the house, which had been up in flames now. Skid was surrounded by several people. All of them were wearing blue uniforms. One was a tall man with jet black hair, and he had a walki-talki attached to his chest. And one was a shorter man with brown hair and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth(which was barely hidden behind his mustache). Skid could barely remember right now, but he was certain he had seen the two of them before. From whenever that man in the red devil mask had tried to hurt him, Pump, Mom and Mrs. Jaune. He could recall that the both of them had saved them all.

The taller one bent down next to him, his voice barely being audible from the sound of crashing flames. Several sirens were heard, and somehow, all of the police cars had been parked on the sand. Skid noticed that suddenly, there had been a warm blanket wrapped around himself. It felt nice, but..

The sounds of the bright flames, the cool overwhelming breeze, the ocean roaring from behind himself. The sirens, the sounds of yelling voices, the several police officers arresting some man who was shouting his name over and over again(possibly, it had been the man). It was so.. so..

"Take 'em out of here. He doesn't need to see this." He heard the man with a cigarette say to several police officers. The police officers nodded, and then, Skid felt himself being softly touched by several hands. Skid slightly whimpered, flinching a little. As soft as the touches felt, he was a little frightened right now. He heard calming voices reassuring him from all sides that he was going to be alright, and that they'd take him to the police station so they could call his mom.

Skid didn't know how to respond, but he slowly nodded, sniffling. He was beginning to cry, tears forming in his eyes. They guided him slowly to the neighborhood, which he could see very clearly due to the streetlights. As he walked closer to it with them all, he could hear the ocean waves getting fainter and fainter away.

————

Before he knew it, he was in the police station.

He had been sat upon a chair with a few police officers or policemen being nearby. One had been on the phone with someone, and another had been standing near Skid. The officers had been oddly nice to him. Or maybe he just had been so used to the man's treatment that he'd forgotten what being nice actually was.

At the very least, they had given him food. It wasn't much—merely a few donuts in a white box. But they were good nonetheless. He ate at them like he hadn't ever ate in his life before, wildly scarfing it down. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so hungry. Seriously. His fragile hands barely managed to hold onto the donuts from how hard they were shaking, and yet he kept stuffing them all into his mouth. In a nearby window, he saw his reflection.

Physically, he looked to have changed a little. Ragged dark purple hair that was somehow still in a bowl cut. Frightened, wide and nervous eyes with slight eyebags. Worryingly pale skin. A few bruises on certain areas. Weirdly enough, he didn't even remember how he had gotten such bruises.

He looked at his reflection—he'd worn his costume so often before the man that he sort of forgot what he actually looked like. All he did remember was that odd bowl cut he had on his hair.

Then, a female voice spoke his name. A familiar one in fact as the door sounded to be opening.

"Son!"

He looked to where the voice was coming from, and he felt himself succumbing to tears. It was his mother. His mom, who he hadn't seen in so long. If he were strong enough, he would have gotten up to run up to her, but the only thing he could muster out was: "...mom..". He spoke in a meek, soft sounding tone.

His mother rushed up to him, and wrapped him into a tight hug. Skids heart beat with panic, for physical touch was a little alarming to him now. Though it quickly stopped. He knew his mother wouldn't hurt him. He trusted her.

But he trusted that man, and that man hurt him. So how did he know who he could trust?

Even so, he hesitantly attempted to hug back, clenching onto his mother. His mother began to cry into his shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks as she held him tight. He cried too, his whimpers sounding weak and high-pitched. "Mom.." He weakly uttered. "Oh.. son.. I'm never letting you out of my sight again!" His mother wailed, clinging onto him.

Skid sobbed too, breathing harshly. He didn't want to let her go, and he never wanted to go without her again. He hoped that his mother would forgive him. He hoped that she'd forgive him for going off with a stranger. He hoped that she'd forgive him for all of this.

Skid sniffled, and pulled away. He looked at his mom. "I—I'm sorry, mom.. I—"

"No, no, it's okay. It's okay, sweetie. I'm just glad that you're here. You're here now. You're safe, son." His mom said to him, sobbing and smiling nervously down at him. She held him tightly again, still sniffling a little. She seemed as if she were trying to convince herself that.

Skid went silent for a brief moment, and then weakly said, "..yeah. Safe." He rested his head on her shoulder once more, allowing her to hug him.

He was safe now. He hadn't anything to worry about anymore. He was with his mom again, and now he'd probably be able to see everyone else he hadn't seen in so long. But that was the thing, he didn't know how long he was gone for.

Just how long had that man kept him there?

...

Just how was everyone going to react when they saw him again?

//////////////////////

Apologies for the darkness of this fic.

#spooky month #read the tws #spooky month au #skid spooky month #lila spooky month #jack spooky month #john spooky month #seriously read the tws

12 notes · View notes