#Vanessa feels bad too she knows this is in poor taste..

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Michael refuses to be gaslit on “THE BITE OF 83”

[1moreff-creator]

DROS CH2 Bonus Scenes First Impressions

Finally not so busy anymore, which means it’s time to react to the DROS Bonus Scenes yay! Though, for the record, I have absolutely no recollection of what I actually sent in. Just, genuinely no idea xD That means all the pairings will be a surprise to me! Aside from the locked in one anyways.

CWs

Paris & Mark

Ooh this could be interesting!

“Nothing like some new areas to get everyone up and out of their rooms~!” A detail I always love in these types of stories is when you can tell who the narration PoV is from just one line, and DROS always does that very well! Paris PoV yay!

“Paris: Still feeling alert after last Trial though huh~? After “waking up,” as you put it. 

They nod.

Mark: I’d say so. My thoughts are a lot more coherent, and the sensations I feel register more. It hasn’t helped my memory at all, though.” Makes sense Paris would take interest in that, and that’s a very peculiar thing Mark’s experiencing.

“Mark: I think that kind of thing is hard for me to put into words for myself. Ellis told me I think too much already. I guess that’s sort of personality.” Poor guy grasping at straws to build a sense of identity T_T

“Paris: Is Ellis the kind of person you usually hang around?

Mark: …Maybe…? I mean, I’d be surprised, since she’s a pretty unique person, but I don’t remember enough to say what my usual friends were like.

Paris: But you had friends?

Mark: …Probably?

Ughhhh. This is getting nowhere. At least I know they haven’t remembered anything else. That’s important information.” I mean yeah, I don’t know what you were expecting :v That said, what does Paris want this information for? Blackmail? Curiosity? The thrill of the gossip game? How have I never questioned this before? Or maybe I have and don’t remember lol.

“Paris: Then you have to tell me~! Like, who’s your favorite person? Other than me, of course~

The disclaimer, of course, applies to anyone with taste, but also makes sure I get the information I actually need. A person’s preferences are a major factor in how social spheres develop. If I’m going to know everything there is to know about this place, I have to care about everything, no matter how small.” Paris is funny lol. Also, I’m still curious about her motive for doing this. Doesn’t seem like it’s exclusively for the fun of it, as if that was the case, she wouldn’t care about knowing everything “no matter how small,” she’d just go for whatever piques her interest. See Paris this is why I always think you’re suspicious when someone’s done something bad xD

“Mark: I guess most of what I’ve been thinking about lately is related to ending the killing game, or how to stop people from killing. It’s hard without knowing too much about everyone, though…” Well… that’s something!

“Anyone who takes time to be suspicious of me won’t tell me whatever I want, which makes these conversations way less fun.” Although just to be clear, she evidently does just have fun info gathering lol.

[Mark explaining their thoughts about ending the killing game] Wow… They so cool :O

“Ugh, answering questions is the worst. Giving out information for free is such a pain. But, I can still do this my way.” Genuinely what is her problem I love her.

“Paris: Well, my favorite is me, of course~

Mark: Other than you?

Paris: Uh, my bestie Tay, obviously. It’s really not supposed to be such a hard question, y’know?” There’s a. Suspicious lack of inner monologue surrounding this. Hmm…

Lovely scene!

Btw is Paris!MM still on the table here I wonder? A few lines read kinda weird maybe, but there’s also stuff like her focus on entertaining herself a la Junko that could be seen as kinda suspicious. Considering basically the entire rest of my top 5 MM predictions is crumbling, I’m trying to keep what I can xD

Vanessa & Robert

The locked in one! Hell yeah! This should be fun :D

“After Grace and Ellis stopped fighting, there was a lot of silence. Ellis was the first to leave, then Grace.” Ooh, interesting place to place the Bonus Scene in!

“Is it… really such a crime, to not want to kill someone? Directly, anyways. Inaction can be a way of killing people in and of itself. That’s kind of Grace’s whole argument.” Wonder if we’re gonna get the buildup to the gun situation here, at least from the perspective of Vanessa’s mindset…

“And, all it takes is one or two people, right? Besides, what would the loved ones say…?” Oh oh, something bad’s happening!

“Vanessa: I’m not… doing anything. At first I was trying to keep spirits up and keep people entertained, but now my spirits are down, and I just… stopped. 

Robert: Well… you’re talking to me, right?

Vanessa: Yeah? I am…

He smiles.

Robert: That’s doing something.” Aww… good friend Robert. Also poor Ness she keeps getting such sad scenes :(

“Robert: Everything here moves really fast, and there’s too much going on to process all of it alone. When everyone just wants to charge ahead, it’s really easy to feel left behind.

Vanessa: That… makes sense…

Robert: But, you’re still willing to stay back with me. You haven’t left me alone, even if I’m no fun, or thinking about sad stuff. That’s doing something.” Yay for friendship! And food for the Vanrobert (Rovanessa? Idk) shippers! However many of those there are xD

“Robert: I’m just kinda… regular, all the time. I feel like I have to really try to be interesting enough, or cool enough, or fun enough that people want to talk to me, or hang out with me. But, when you’re not sad, you have a lot of energy, and pep, and people are drawn to you. Your job is one where people gravitate towards you. So, it’s different.

Vanessa: I think you’re fun.” And now it’s time for Robert to get angst, and Vanessa to be adorable! This interaction is so wholesome :D

“Is being here, participating in this killing game, spending time with the people who are like me, really enough to count as helping? 

Vanessa: …What do you think is going to happen? With the motive.” And there goes the wholesomeness, dragged away by the narrative. Many such cases.

“Robert: I’d guess it’s my mom, for me…” Is this new info? I think we didn’t know Robert’s person, so that’s cool! Also don’t mind me doing the exact thing I called Paris out on doing (gathering all info possible) it’s different when I do it xD

“Robert: …Would it be better to talk about her a little? Or, is it better to not think about it?

Vanessa: Her?

Robert: Your sister.” For a moment I thought we were gonna talk about Antonia, but the other thing makes more sense I guess xp

“Robert: Would it help or hurt if I told you a bit about my mom?

Vanessa: Uh… if you want to, go ahead.

Robert: …I guess there isn’t that much to say. You could probably guess a lot of it. She raised me; she was a stay-at-home mom for me and my little sister. Always caring and looking out for us…” And there he goes, endearing Vanessa to another of the potential victims of the motive… we can see where this is going :p Also yay more backstory!

“I don’t want to be inactive. I don’t want to just be an observer to all of this awful stuff anymore. I want to do something.” And there we go, gun situation incoming! I also wonder based on the wording if Vanessa’s talent was chosen because it correlates to the idea of her being an observer first and foremost, since announcers are basically professional observers. Neat!

Aidan & Noah

I repeat that I do not remember what I sent in, but this seems like it could be a fun duo! Especially this chapter!

“Davis doesn’t seem to be feeling any better, but that’s no surprise. It… seems…? Like my presence might’ve helped, but he probably just didn’t want to be alone, or whatever it is that people say in times like these. Especially if his friend just died.” It’s interesting seeing Aidan’s thought process on stuff. He always seems to be so sure of the things he says that him not being entirely sure of what’s going on with Davis (and possibly missing or dismissing the possibility that Davis has a particular attachment to him) is pretty fun to see!

“I’d figured I’d be able to ask [Noah] follow up questions when he showed up to the roulette earlier today, but then he didn’t. Either way, I still want answers.” Interesting; I wonder what those questions are. Maybe related to Noah’s loved one being different than he expected?

“Aidan: Room service.” He’s a genius, what can I say xD

“The door actually opens– just enough for an item pass off. I push it open the rest of the way, surprising Noah, who flinches backwards in surprise.

Aidan: C’mon. We’re talking.

I grab his arm and pull him deeper into his room.” Bro relax. For a dude whose entire thing is not really caring about fuck all, Aidan seems oddly determined to have this conversation lmao.

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about it, but to be honest, I don’t really care.” Ah, there he is!

“Aidan: You said your dad was going to be the one on the roulette, but he wasn’t. Do you know why?” It is about this! And yeah, it’s a fair question. If Noah can’t think of a reason the killing game runner(s) would have picked his mom over his dad, it’s entirely possible that Noah’s dad is just dead due to Tragedy reasons.

“Tracking what’s going on with the roulette really shouldn’t be my job, considering I’m not all that invested on account of not having a loved one, but everyone else seems too preoccupied to do it. Besides, it’s not like I’m doing anything else.” It really is funny how invested Aidan got in this thing. My guy must be bored out of his mind lmao.

“Aidan: Why did you think it’d be your dad?

Noah: I just… thought he was the most likely option. I spend way more time with him…

Aidan: But they thought it would “trouble” you more to lose your mom.

Noah: I guess so.

Aidan: Do you agree with their judgment?

Noah: …

His voice comes out quietly.

Noah: I guess so.” This also makes sense! Wonder what that’s all about.

“Noah’s not going to tell me anything if he’s already struggling to get his words out, so I have to figure out the best way to say these things. Why the fuck do I have to comfort someone twice in one day…?” Aidan’s inner monologue is also fun to read because the amount of “done with everyone’s shit” units in the text go off the charts’ xD

“Aidan: …When you said you thought it’d be your dad, you were able to come to terms with it. 

Noah: …

Aidan: Is there a reason why? […]

Noah: …We’ve had our differences, I guess.” Oof.

““I spend more time with him” and “we’ve had our differences” is enough to get a gist of what happened.” I mean I would like more details but I get the sense prying for those is more a Paris thing than an Aidan one lol.

“Am I trying to learn more about Noah? To confirm our interpretation of the motive as correct? To comfort someone who’s struggling…?

Definitely not that last one. I’m here for answers, one way or another.” Lol, “I’m definitely not doing this because I care,” alright who do you think you are? Ellis? Admittedly I trust Aidan saying he doesn’t care more than Ellis but y’know. That may just be a result of having more content with Ellis as the PoV character lol.

“Aidan: Would it trouble you to lose your dad?

Noah frowns.

Noah: It would… definitely make me think. It would be a lot. […] I’d be upset. I wouldn’t be happy about it.” This is a concerning amount of hesitation for this question. What kinda disagreement must have they had for this hesitation to exist? Very curious…

What a nice little scene! A little more background on Noah’s feelings towards his parents, and more insight on Aidan’s thought processes! You love to see it!

Jeff & Davis

These two had a pretty interesting conversation in the main series, so this could be pretty cool!

“To my surprise, Davis actually shows at dinner tonight.” Yeah I guess Jeff would assume people would try to run away and avoid social interaction when something traumatic happens lol.

“I grab my food and end up sitting next to him, which he responds to with a dismissive sideways glance.” Oh so there’s beef beef here, huh? At least on Davis’ side :O

“Jeff: Who was she?

Davis frowns.

Davis: My best friend since middle school.” Ouchie! We kinda knew from the dead loved ones art post, but it’s still neat to get more details.

“Jeff: What’s your plan now?

Davis: …Miss her…? I don’t really understand the question.” Lmao. Yeah Jeff what are you saying.

“For me, the answer would be to skip out. Ignore whatever comes from this, use the distance to avoid the pain, then eventually loop back once everything feels normal again.” I mean yeah that tracks.

“Davis: I’ll try my best to handle it and focus on other things. There isn’t much space to make peace with something in the killing game, so I’ll just have to internalize it and come back to it when I have the time and space to.” Quite a mature response to the situation! Glad someone in the cast is able to keep their shit together in these situations xD

“Davis: I wish I could talk to my therapist…” Yay for therapy!

“Jeff: Are you gonna be there tomorrow? For the motive, I mean.

Davis: I don’t know. Probably. I don’t enjoy seeing the bodies, but… it’s nice to know, I guess. To keep a pulse on everyone else’s… situations.” Nice of Davis, though the wording’s a bit unfortunate lmao.

“Davis: I assume you don’t have anyone for the roulette?

Jeff: As far as I know. Not sure who it’d be.

I run through a list of people I’ve known in the past. I don’t think anyone would qualify. No one I think of conjures any particular emotion, profound or otherwise. They’re all just in the past.” What a peculiar life my guy Jeff lives.

“Jeff: I mean, back when my parents were still around, I guess I cared.” Alright just hit me with 3d4 emotional damage out of the blue, I see how it is.

[Jeff’s backstory] This is really interesting! It definitely explains his lifestyle, and it’s a pretty nice thing to learn if nothing else!

“Davis: Have you been in a relationship before?

Jeff: Ehhhh. Not in such a serious way. More just… we hang around each other for as long as we want. A week, or a month or two. Not usually longer than that.

Something I said seems to have particularly bothered him, because he’s back to half-glaring at the table.” Yeah Jeff don’t you know Davis’ playlist song is HIBANA*? He ain’t gonna appreciate a “weak minded love!” Though I don’t know why he has an issue with other people being okay with those kinds of relationships, but y’know.

*Speculation. (Planning on making a full post for the playlist btw!)

“Davis: It’s just… always interesting to hear of the differences between myself and others. That’s all.” Yeah that’s a diplomatic way of putting it xD

“Did his friend dying make him that much more likely to go with the flow? Is what I’m saying or doing less objectionable to him than normal, for some reason…? […] Still, as he leaves dinner, he gives me a slight nod. I guess that, at least for tonight, I’ve earned a proper acknowledgement. Whether that’ll keep up into the future or not, I have no idea…” …What? Okay that’s a really interesting reaction. It seems my guy Davis is having some kind of character arc, how exciting!

-

Wee! These were super fun as always! Cannot wait for CH3 to begin, I’m already looking forward to it a lot! :D See ya’!

[axther]

internal monologue

TW: main character death, disassociation, derealisation, massive angst, accidental murder, dead bodies, overall a lot of traumacore, and jumping off a cliff (but not to aliven’t). 

Beta’d by @reddriot​ HEHEHHE this was your monster, ze 

This is a paired fic with @ererokii​’s “Pretend I Am”. Please go check her story out as we both made each other suffer while writing it. 

 Venti’s memory was unreliable. He rediscovers this the hard way. 

“Do you blame yourself?” 

Venti had been drinking. He didn’t know for how long, why, when, where. It all blurred together, days, weeks, months. Everyone was talking and his head pounded and the lights made him want to hurl. He was still empty. All those years of sleep and drinking and singing and he still could never fill it. 

He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. And that’s when he heard it. 

The tavern went dark. It fell silent, and the chairs were empty. 

“Do you blame yourself?” The voice rang in his ears like a bell, one that he dreaded to hear. He remembered his voice. He heard it every day, and wished he wasn’t such a coward that he took on a dead man’s skin. 

“What?” Venti’s voice was quiet. It wasn’t his voice anymore, no. It was his, the Bard’s, and Venti couldn’t even remember the poor bastard’s name. He had given his life for Mondstadt, for Venti, and he couldn’t even be remembered. The Bard’s voice echoed in his ears, and the tavern was caving in. The woman next to him was so soft, so sweet. He could almost touch her cheek, and he reached a hand out. She could pull him out of this, and that gentle smile was so close. 

“It’s quite common in this situation for you to feel some kind of...guilt.” The Bard sounded too calculated. Cold. No, Venti’s Bard was good and kind and whole. This Bard was cruel and emotionless. Empty. 

“What situation?” Venti’s voice didn’t leave his body. Nothing was his anymore. It never was, after all. He was no archon. He was no bard. He stole everything for himself. And something bubbled in his gut. He turned to the other side of him, and the Bard was next to him, with a face of pure, smooth skin. The Bard titled his head, and Venti knew there was a sick smile under it all. 

“The accident.” 

The battle was won. 

Vanessa was talking to some of her colleagues about rebuilding Mondstadt. All those alongside here were giants, not in size, but deep within themselves. Venti knew that he would have to go on, wandering Tevyat soon, in hopes of spreading songs and joy. 

And then, he got a tap on his shoulder. 

“Lord Barbatos?” 

The voice was kind, worn, sturdy like fir and pine and all the things that grow tall and strong. Venti turned, almost jumpy, when he saw a young woman behind him. She was in all words, average. Had he seen her in the street, he would not consider her to be much more than a normal citizen. But the large spear strapped to her back said otherwise;it was enormous, taller than Venti and sharper than even Venessa’s blade. 

“Yes! Hello!” he chirped, getting back his cheery disposition. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what happened. WHAT HAPPENED She smiled at him and bowed slightly. When she looked up into Venti’s eyes, Venti realised she had green eyes. No, blue. Brown? And they were wide, and then almond, and quite suddenly, Venti realised that she was changing, her face not one thing for one second. The world around him started melting, and everyone was laughing, staring at him, staring at him, staring! 

You don’t remember what she looks like!  

Venti felt like he was choking, and he took a step back. He brought a hand up to his neck, and there was nothing there-wait! His hands were gone too! 

Just make something up! 

“Stop!” Venti shrieked, and it was his voice, finally, his true voice, squeaky and terrified. It was all acidic, dissolving and crumbling around him. 

“Wait.” Her voice was quiet, and it broke through the sound and the rage and the horror. “Lord Barbatos. What is my name?” “Wh-what?” Venti gasped, the whole mountainside empty. When was this Dragonspine? It was Windrise before, green and beautiful and now it was just cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. 

“What was my name, Lord Barbatos?” She tilted her head, and now she was panicking, face distorting into nothing but unadulterated fear. “I-I can’t remember, Lord Barbatos! Oh, gods! Help me!” 

“No! No!” Venti tried reaching for her, the world disappearing until all that was left was a pair of the most gorgeous eyes Venti had ever seen. They sat in the snow, lifeless and cold. 

“YN! No! Wait for me!” 

Venti was choking on his own drink when he came to. 

Diluc was shaking him, red eyes wide. Jean was there, the Traveller was there, and Barbara had her healing at the ready.

“Oh my gods,” Diluc whispered, pulling away before sighing and crossing his arms. “We thought you had a stroke.” “What?” Venti’s head felt like it was full of cotton. “I...did I pass out?” “We don’t know.” Jean’s voice was soft, and it reminded Venti of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his back shiver, but it felt almost like it was being contorted. He was being crushed under the weight of something, something he didn’t know. “You...it was like you were zoning out, or daydreaming...like a nightmare.” 

“Nightmare…” Venti looked down at his mug, seeing his reflection in it. But his heart leapt to his throat and the clock stopped ticking when he saw the Bard behind him. This time, he had a mouth, too wide and filled too full with razor-sharp teeth. Something in his inhuman heart began to quake.

“I need to go.” He stumbled out of the chair, feet hitting the floor too soon. 

Too soon? Like her? 

Venti tumbled out of the bar, almost face planting on the sidewalk as Jean and Diluc called out behind him, barely catching himself before running as fast as he could. The night felt warm, the air was muggy, and he was choking. He ran out the front gates, ran past the birds, the bridge, the rolling hills. His feet ached and his head spun, and nothing could stop him. He closed his eyes, wheezing and praying to whatever god above he could. 

Oh, wait. He was the god people prayed to. 

His running slowed, soft as the air began to cool. A breeze picked up, ruffling his hair, and in the distance, he heard laughter. His eyes were still shut, and for once, he felt...peaceful. He was still walking, but if he listened closely enough, he could hear people walking next to him, chipper and sweet. 

“Well, I think the festival should be called Windblume.” The Bard huffed playfully, skipping a bit in his step. “It’s got a ring to it!” “What do you mean?” YN’s voice was soft, and Venti could almost see her tilting her head. “It’s always been called that.” “Oh.” The Bard’s voice dropped with Venti’s stomach. “That’s right.” “We never met,” YN sighed. 

“We were thousands of years apart.” The Bard finished her sentence. 

“We both…” she began. 

Venti opened his eyes, overlooking Starsnatch Cliff. 

The wind was rougher here, tugging him over to the edge and making his cape whip over his shoulders. There was the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of it in his nose, and he felt sick. 

“Look down,” The Bard put his hands on Venti’s shoulders, holding roughly and putting his thumbs in the front. “I dare you.” 

“No.” Venti’s heart hurt like it was being squeezed by a vice. “I don’t...I don’t wanna.” “But she’s down there,” the Bard whispered. “All alone.” 

“What?” Venti blinked, taking a sharp breath in. 

“You left her down there.” The Bard sighed, almost sounding like he pitied Venti. 

“No?” Venti felt confused. “She’s...she was…” “She’s dead, Barbatos.” The Bard breathed out, letting go of Venti. “You’re really sick, you know.” 

“What? No!” Venti spun around, feeling lost in the midst of a storm that he couldn’t control. “What are you talking about?” “She hated heights.” Now, the Bard had eyes—deep, like sockets of coal instead of real eyes. No, they stared right through Venti, bore through whatever shadow of a man he once was. “Can you imagine? Her falling in love with the god of the winds?” 

“Stop…” Venti whimpered, and just for a second, when the Bard blinked, she stood there, ominously smiling. Her smile was always so sweet, Venti thought. Sweet, like flowers and the ocean breeze. She loved him so much. 

“And you betrayed her trust, just like that.” The Bard murmured and shook his head. 

“What do you mean? She…” Venti wanted to say that she grew old, and died in Springvale surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But something on the tip of his tongue split his thought in half, making him freeze. 

“She what, Barbatos?” The Bard tilted his head. “Say it.” 

“She…” 

It was a windy day. 

Venti stared over the edge of Starsnatch Cliff with a giddy grin, holding the top of his hat. The drop below was enough to make any mortal man shiver, but he turned to the love of his eternal life and grinned. 

“Hey! C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun!” He jumped up, grabbing YN’s hand and humming. “I swear, nothing bad will happen!” “I…” YN glanced at the cliff’s edge and gulped, slightly pulling away from Venti. “It sounds really dangerous…” “Nah! It’s just gliding for two, after all!” He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling softly. “You trust me, don’t you?” “Always!” Her voice was soft and pleading, looking down to meet his eyes. “But you know how much I hate heights.” “Don’t worry! I promise it’ll be a great experience!” “But what if I fall…?” “You won’t! I won’t let you go!” He was on cloud nine, floating above everything and everyone. YN was right before him, and everything felt right in the world. But then YN sighed again, and pulled away. 

“But…” “But I did.” Venti’s voice was hollow, even to himself, and he watched her spark and pop, a figment of his imagination. 

“You did, my love.” YN sounded so sad, eyebrows furrowing. “Why did you let go?” 

“I…” Tears welled up in Venti’s eyes, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“But I’m gone, Lord Barbatos.” YN sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’ve been gone for so long.” “They never found…” Venti choked on his own words, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “They never found your body.” “You told them I ran off, remember?” YN softly wept, before the Bard appeared behind her. He grabbed her hands with a tenderness that only lovers had, and gently pulled them away. YN’s eyes were gone, nothing more than gored out holes in her head. Venti nearly screamed, taking a step back in alarm before realising he was at the edge of the cliff. The wind picked up behind him, and when he turned on shaky knees, he saw a gruesome sight underneath him. 

YN’s corpse was upon the sand, blood staining the grains and flowing out into the ocean. Her blood was so dark that it was almost inky, dispersing into the water without a trace. But it stained Venti, stained his clothes and his hands and his heart. His eyes felt like they were bleeding with her, staring at the rocks that gouged her eyes out when she landed.  Her skull was the worst—split open like a nut and spilling everywhere. The sight was terrible, horrible, heartbreaking and earth shattering. 

“You loved her, Barbatos! You loved her and you killed her!” The Bard cackled. “You let her fall! How useless can you be to kill your own girlfriend?!” 

Venti felt himself swaying. The mocking was too much, and he could hear laughing behind him. Laughing! Laughing! The whole of Tevyat was laughing at him, laughing and weeping and pointing their gnarled hands at him. 

“You should’ve joined her!” the Bard howled above the din. A storm from the sea swept in, nearly blowing Venti away with the wind as he tried to hold on to anything he had left. “You can’t protect anyone! Join her, little god! Join her, and watch her rot in the abyss!” 

It was too much, it made Venti’s ears ring and when he tried to cover them, his hat blew off his head and into the sea. He closed his eyes, praying to get away from whatever waking nightmare this was, but when he opened them, YN’s corpse was right at his feet, blood soaking into his shoes as she blinked and her face contorted into a huge, toothy maw. Everyone’s yelling became one, with the Bard and YN yelling louder than all the others. 

“Don’t leave me, Barbatos!” “Don’t leave her, Barbatos!” 

“Please don’t leave me!!” 

And Venti fell. 

Venti’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

He woke up to the sea lapping at the top of his head. He had a splitting headache and the sun shone right in his eyes, making him glower and sigh. For the briefest, holiest moment, he couldn’t remember what he was doing or where he was. He just wanted a nice drink at Angel’s Share and maybe play a nice song for Aether. 

But then he heard the sea, and he remembered. 

A feeling of dread began to overcome him, and when he sat up, his hair was damp and made water run down his back. He knew his cloak was positively soaked and that he had no way of knowing how long he was out for. He just remembered falling, thinking so long as she isn’t alone before passing out. 

He stood up on shaky legs and knew that YN wouldn’t be there. 

Her corpse was only a hallucination, or something of the sort. He knew it, he knew it so well, but the night she appeared, it felt so real. 

Venti hated his relapses. 

He slowly made his way up the beach in haze, and then past Windrise, and he realised without thinking much about it that he was simply making his way to Mondstadt, without truly knowing the way. There was a magnetic pull, one that he almost hated had he not cared so much. His heart bled, oozed, spilled everywhere. But if it bled for Mondstadt, for the Nameless Bard, for YN, then when would it bleed for him? When would he get his turn? 

He stumbled into Angel’s Share and sat on his usual stool. He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. He looked to his other side, and the Bard stared into an empty mug. He had no face, no eyes, no smile. He was mundane again, with no memory and no song. Venti couldn’t remember YN’s face again, and he wondered, should he look into his drink, if her eyes would be floating there. Someone shuffled next to where YN was sitting, and when he glanced, he saw a young woman in YN’s perfect visage. She was perhaps a little less muscly, and a little more dainty, but when she glanced at him with an annoyed eye, Venti’s blood froze. It was humiliating, and he wondered if somehow, YN’s ghost had come back, reincarnated, to torture him for his sin. 

“Do you have a problem?” The young woman asked. YN turned her head, and Venti could just barely make out her tilting her head before she seemed to quite suddenly disappear. The Bard laughed under his breath, and all of Tevyat mocked Lord Barbatos, the Anemo Archon and Windborne Bard. 

Venti had been drinking. 

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 7 [NSFW]

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: The idiots have admitted they love each other, but are still figuring out how not to be assholes. Included in this chapter: a fancy dinner party that goes horribly, Chilton getting drunk, Frankenstein references, and a little smut

5,568 words

Trust was a difficult thing for Dr. Frederick Chilton. There were few people he had ever trusted, and one of them had been feeding him people at dinner parties.

Any show of weakness, he learned, would inevitably be turned against him, and clearly he could not count on himself to realize when he was being manipulated. Played. He had been played so many times.

When you said you loved him, how could he be certain?

The entire concept was abstract as it was. His parents had an icy relationship, and he had been raised more by nannies and boarding schools than them, so love was a thing he had observed hints of around him, and become aware of its existence through its absence in his own life. Love was a negative space drawing.

He distinctly remembered one of his childhood friends being picked up by his parents at the end of a school year, crying tears of joy as he leaped into the smiling couple’s arms. They held his hand, and asked about what friends he had made.

It made him feel so hollow.

Pity made sense. You had a basic empathy response to his woundedness, and it compelled you to nurture him to health. Pity he understood. But you said you loved him now.

Love was more. Love was many things, as he gathered it, defined in different ways. Neurologically, love was a release of chemicals such as oxytocin to form lasting bonds. Evolutionarily, it was a symbiotic partnership that benefited the survival of both parties and their children. Love was an intense feeling, and a deliberate commitment. It was mutual respect and care. It was more than he could imagine anyone feeling toward him.

Chilton eyed the Is Your Crush In Love With You? quiz advertised on the cover of a teen magazine at a newspaper stand and almost—almost!—considered buying it before his pride as a psychiatrist (and an adult man) stopped him.

It should be easy to diagnose love. Abnormal psychology was far more complex than this mundane tripe. He simply had to list out the evidence in a logical fashion. He scrawled down pro and con columns in a notebook.

Definitely Not Love:

1. Face too gross.

Before getting shot, he thought he had been reasonably handsome—not tall or athletic, but acceptable. Who would accept him now? Anyone in their right mind would be disgusted after seeing his face so mutilated. And yet…

Proof It’s Love:

1. Kisses my gross face.

You saw his face, and if you were disgusted, you hid it damned well. You had been alarmed, and worried… and then you kissed him. You kissed him on every horrible part as if you loved him even more for being broken—which, frankly, made you diagnosable, but reassured him that your bond was stronger than a mere act.

Or did it prove even more conclusively that it was an act? Anyone who wasn’t after something would have run away, but you didn’t care what he looked like, because it was all a performance!

Definitely Not Love:

2. Kisses my gross face. Fake.

It was as yet unclear what the something was that you were after, however. The more time that went by, the more it seemed you really didn’t care about his money. You tried to turn down a $900 Montblanc pen, proving yet again your utter lack of taste. Even when he was presumed deceased, you were so overwrought by his assassination that Jack Crawford insisted upon letting you in on it before you did something rash. You mourned him when there was nothing to gain.

Proof It’s Love:

2. Not in it for money

You were frequently rude to him. It was what he first loathed about you—that absolute disregard for manners and polite conversation. Maybe—maybe—he had done a few things which could be construed as dishonest or mishandled, but he was still an esteemed doctor. You would have shown the respect his station warranted if you desired him as a partner.

Definitely Not Love:

3. Calls me an idiot.

A poor strategy if you were pretending to love him, though. His most manipulative exes would certainly apply insults strategically to bend him to their will, but always started off with nothing but flattery and kindness in the wooing phase. Traps are usually baited with honey.

Your behavior was crass out of blunt honesty and an absence of diplomatic tact. You were rude when he was unethical or selfish, because he was those things. Hannibal was at his most friendly when he was at his worst, but you wanted him to be better. You wanted a partner.

If your relationship were an elaborate manipulation, you would have to be an intelligent psychopath, but that hypothesis simply did not hold up to scrutiny. Psychopaths chose their words carefully, and always maintained their cold, predatory calm. You once called him “ass-butt” when you were mad. No serial killer could be as clumsy and tactless.

You were the opposite of a psychopath: warm, nurturing, emotional, and an utter mess.

Proof It’s Love:

3. Calls me an idiot.

He leaned back in his office chair, staring down at the paper. There were dozens of things he could add to the love column, now that he thought about it. You laughed at his bad jokes. Listened to him talk about things that certainly bored you. Reminded him to take his medicine when he worked late and forgot. Spent time with him. Admired him. You never turned against him. Never tried to hurt him. He had to accept the evidence: you loved him. Entirely.

At the very least, he was certain he loved you. This novel rush of feelings that had been painting in the negative space of his soul since he first woke up to your smile could only be love. Your warmth radiated around him, enveloped him in its light, and he could no longer imagine how he’d lived without it. He was certain he loved you, because he had never cared about anyone more than himself before.

Love was an unusual thing for Dr. Frederick Chilton. It was weakness, and it was invulnerability. He was exposed. Raw. It made him feel safe with you, and more afraid than ever that you would be taken away.

It took four decades, but Frederick Chilton’s walls were coming down, and it opened up a Pandora’s box of feelings he was not equipped to cope with.

  *****

He loved you! It swam around your head in a sing-song voice, distracting you and making you hum subconsciously and sway to a secret rhythm while you were at work. That wonderful pompous jerk loved you. You were in a dream.

It made you dizzy how tender and uncertain he could be. He was not particularly comfortable with public displays of affection—there was a vulnerability when he was with you that he could not tolerate anyone else seeing—but he still managed to have his hands on you at nearly every moment. A light touch on the small of your back: restrained, but possessive. His finger grazing across the back of your knuckles under the table. Leaning close to see something you were looking at and putting his hands on your shoulders. He hated being far from you for long.

Since showing you his face and finding that the world did not end, he had been downright clingy.

“You know I’m out of town on a case,” you explained for the thousandth time to an increasingly sulky doctor.

“I see,” he pouted, “Well, perhaps I will call Vanessa and see if she wants to have dinner tonight.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Excuse me?” he feigned offense very seriously, as if he didn’t know you knew he was being a dick on purpose.

Early in your relationship you had both been very clear that it was just sex, and not at all anything that involved a monogamous commitment or, god forbid, feelings. You’d never explicitly updated this agreement to better reflect the love you were in and he was provoking you with it.

“Who is ‘Vanessa,’ anyway? Your cousin?”

“Aunt,” he admitted tersely. “I demand you come to my house this evening!”

You laughed into the receiver, imagining the way his cheeks were puffing out. “I miss you too, babe. I’ll be back in Baltimore tomorrow.”

There was a quiet sigh. “Please be careful.”

He loved you, but was he your boyfriend? Were you exclusive now? These were questions you’d been having, and were too afraid to ask for fear that the answers would be no. Even though he was just being a manipulative little brat, his casual implication of dating other people still hung in your brain, interrupting the pleasant birdsong.

  *****

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

Chilton paused mid-comparison of two ties from his closet and scoffed. One was blue and formal, while the other had splashes of bold purple, and he was trying to decide which gave off the better impression of staggering wealth and success.

“Yes,” he answered with impatience. “You do not know how to behave as a civilized adult.” He went back to sorting through his closet for an outfit.

Your impulse to punch him in the face was acutely returning. “Seriously? Because I didn’t know which fork was for the salad?”

“You have no etiquette, you dress like a tourist, your favorite wine comes from a box...” He would have continued but your cheeks were burning and you screamed with indignation.

“Wow, so I’m just your dirty secret then, is that it?”

“I thought you did not like ‘fancy’ occasions. This dinner party will be attended only by the foremost luminaries in the psychiatric field, and other professionals of note. You would find it tediously dull, I am sure.”

“You said it was an old friend. I don’t know any of your friends, and if we’re going to be together you can’t just… keep me in your closet for sex!”

“Do not be childish.”

That was the last straw. You stomped your foot (not necessarily disproving the ‘childish’ remark) and shouted, “You are unbelievable! You have no respect for me at all, do you? I thought that you—that we were… But really, I just let myself forget what a raging asshole you are!”

He called out your name from somewhere behind you as you stormed out, but you didn't listen, slamming the door.

  *****

Were you being unfair? If he wasn’t ready to introduce you to an old colleague, could you fault him for wanting to take things slow? But no—he expressly admitted to being embarrassed of you. He didn’t think you would fit in with these people so he was hiding you in shame—and he was probably right.

How could you ever hope to really be with someone like him? You were kidding yourself.

You were crying and watching Aliens (you needed to watch people getting ripped apart and exploding to calm down) when there was a knock at your door. Chilton stood on the other side with a purple tie, and some flowers that were definitely yanked from your neighbor’s garden. He handed them to you indifferently.

“Come on, then,” he said.

You grunted in confusion.

“Come to dinner. Be my plus one.”

“Are you kidding?” you retracted the spoon of Chinese takeout from your mouth. “Why would I want to go anywhere with you and your snobby friends where I’ll just embarrass everybody by being a pleb?”

His shoulders sank and he looked like a man half his size—which was already fairly small. He looked like a folding chair you could tuck under your arm and carry away. You worried you might forgive him immediately.

“Because I want you to be there. Because I love you.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, unyielding.

An uncomfortable groan rumbled his throat, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling as they always did when he admitted to being wrong. “I apologize. For my rude behavior.”

Your arms considered the apology, and reluctantly uncrossed themselves.

“I am sorry. I love you.” He pouted, meeting your gaze with those irresistible puppy dog eyes, and took your hand. “Now just… come, we are going to be late.”

“Jerk.” You kissed him. His breath tasted like mint, and his spicy aftershave was fresh and strong.

“I know.”

“Big jerk.” You kissed him again, this time letting your lips linger at the edge of his when you pulled back, his nose brushing against yours.

“The worst,” he breathed.

“Poopyfacejerkbuttpants,” you declared.

“You are a child!” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Why do I love you?”

“I’m very sexy,” you grinned, wagging your eyebrows.

His chest puffed with a short laugh. “You are very sexy. And patient, and wise, and most likely smarter than me. Well,” he changed his mind on the last point, “close, anyway.” He looked down over the teriyaki-stained sweatpants you were wearing. “Now put on real clothing, and try not to appear homeless.”

  *****

What he had described as an annual dinner party with an old friend from his Harvard years was actually a pissing contest carefully couched in the trappings of polite high society.

Nobody mocked Chilton’s dietary restrictions or recent arrest under suspicion of being the Chesapeake Ripper (that would be rude), but they did express their sincerest worry for him, observing how such trauma must have explained why it had been so long since he last published.

Everyone was dressed so elegantly you felt like a Good Will clearance sale rack, and they were so accomplished and interesting you felt like a Good Will clearance sale rack. A woman named Linnea was visiting from Norway with hair like the sun’s rays and eyeliner sharp enough to cut diamonds. She spoke five languages and had sequenced the genes of a plant that might one day cure cancer. When Chilton smiled his best used-car-salesman trying-to-impress-you smile at her, your skull nearly burst open.

Not that you were jealous, you just—OK! Of course you were jealous! She was a goddess who seemed more his type than you ever were, and he was being nice. He was never that nice!

The host, his “friend” Victor, had walked off the cover of a GQ magazine. Where Chilton always seemed to be trying too hard, Victor emanated confidence and power as naturally as breathing, a trait infused in his blood from generations of old money—though there was something unnaturally macabre in his sallow complexion.

He had four children stashed away somewhere with the au pair in one of the guest houses. You knew, because he brought it up, putting his hand around the shoulder of his equally magnificent golden-haired wife, as a point of pride. Emphasis on point. The purpose of dinner was clearly for them to take stock of each other’s lives and achievements and determine who was winning.

No wonder Chilton didn’t want you there.

It was the kind of environment that made you want to slam your fist down on the table, scream, “CUT THE CRAP!” and tell them to suck a bag of dicks. But Chilton clearly wanted to ingratiate himself with them, and you had promised not to be too embarrassing.

However out of place you felt at that stately solid oak table, it was thrilling to watch Chilton at the peak of his game.

“It’s always an honor to treat someone who has been in space, you know?” Victor humbly recounted working as a therapist for NASA. “What those men get to see up there among the stars is beyond anything I can understand as a mere doctor. You can imagine the challenge.”

Chilton nodded amicably. “Not every psychiatrist is cut out to deal with the difficult cases. The psychopathic mind is dangerous territory, but I have always sought to delve into the most inaccessible parts of the human psyche, at the frontier of our understanding of the brain. That is where the greatest discoveries are to be made.”

He just made his job sound cooler than astronauts. Point, swish! You wished you had popcorn instead of whatever fermented mollusk nightmare was on your plate.

“I’m just sorry for the horror stories this one must have to endure when you get home!” Victor’s wife laughed a friendly, teasing high-pitched trill, gesturing to you sympathetically. Oh no, you thought. They hunt in packs.

Chilton’s amicable smile tightened. Besides the obvious snub toward the grim nature of his work, they knew the two of you weren’t married or even living together, and therefore his house was desolately empty when he got home. Point to Blondie.

Counteroffensive: You took Chilton’s hand and pet it in the most sickeningly saccharine gesture of affection you could think of, and swooned about how dearly you appreciated the wonderful, important work he did. The danger really spiced things up in bed, too!

He choked on his wine. So did Victor. You wondered if anyone had food in their mouths and how many points you’d win for fatalities.

A roaring laugh echoed through the dining room, shaking the table. A man who shared Victor’s features, but younger and with a bigger smile, air high-fived you from across the expanse. You ended up being surprisingly popular after that little ice-breaker, lightening the mood by telling hilarious crime scene stories about dumb criminals and weird accidents. They thought you were a breath of fresh air.

You and Ernest—the host’s younger brother—especially hit it off. He’d joined the military as soon as he turned 18 as a rebellion against all the “hoity-toity nonsense” in his family, and had some stories that made even your toes curl. After dinner you hung out in the garden looking for bugs while everyone inside chatted about opera, wine, and what important doctors they were. The Norwegian goddess joined you for awhile, too, rattling off plant species in the landscaping. She was actually pretty cool. If Frederick were going to cheat on you, she’d be your top choice for sure.

  *****

Chilton stared sideways out the panoramic glass wall overlooking the gardens. There, under the faded yellow glow of string lights and cradled by a lush border of foliage, you were still talking with that meathead. He tried to use his peripheral vision so the others couldn’t see him staring after you like a lost, lovelorn fawn, but was not doing a good job.

You were going to leave him. He knew it would happen if he brought you (though he thought it would be Victor who seduced you away from him), and he couldn’t stand it. It burned like hot coals in his chest.

He drank.

He drank a lot.

He drank until he got up the courage to stagger outside on his cane to grab you and say, “We’re leaving!”

“Excuse me?” you said, startled by the abruptness of his demand. Pulling your wrist back out of his grasp you were surprised at how unbalanced he was. You had never seen him drunk, and a tiny voice tempted you to poke him in the chest and see how far he wobbled.

He hissed in your ear, “Do not talk with him, he is trying to steal you from me!” not as privately as he thought he was being.

“Hey. Watch it, pal,” said Ernest.

Chilton lurched and caught himself on you, wrapping his arms protectively around you until he was draped on your shoulders like a human Superman cape, dropping his cane on the floor. “Don’t... do not leave me,” he slurred. “I love you. I love you.”

Cool. He was a goofy drunk. A sad, goofy, koala drunk.

You spun in his arms to face him, and pressed your cool palms against the flushed sides of his red face. He was trying very hard to look serious, and you were certain he thought he was doing a great job at it, in much the same way a kindergartner thinks they are being very serious and grown-up demanding a second juice box. “Oh, honey… you really can’t drink like that with one kidney. It’s not good for you.”

“Please don’t leave?” he begged.

“Frederick...” So this was what being a parent to a toddler was like.

“I knew… you would...” His eyelids drooped, and more of his weight shifted onto you.

“OK, I think it is time to leave,” you strained to hold him up.

Ernest very kindly helped you get him and his cane to the front of the house and called for the valet to bring the car around. Judging eyes watched from inside while he vomited into a topiary. Eventually the hosts came to the door to inquire if everything was all right, and you politely apologized for Chilton being such a lightweight since his very tragic, very brave recovery from being maimed. Hopefully that would save him some face.

Thanking Ernest one last time, you grumbled as you slid behind the wheel. Chilton had, naturally, driven his impractical vintage penis-substitute car, and now you had to figure out how to drive the thing back.

  *****

Chilton groaned, slowly rolled his shoulder, and woke up slumped and contorted into the passenger seat. He groaned louder.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like someone drove a brick through my skull. No—like I was shot in the head again.” He massaged his temples blearily as he recovered consciousness. His eyes flew open. “What happened? Why are we in the car?”

“Well, uh...” you adjusted your grip on the steering wheel. “Let’s just say one of us was embarrassing and leave it at that?”

“Merciful god.” He remembered the fourth glass of wine. And the scotch.

He remembered that guy you were talking to.

“You were flirting with another man,” he accused.

“I was not flirting. He was married. All he could talk about was getting back to his husband in Colorado Springs—he’s only visiting here for a week.”

Chilton paused. “That does not preclude flirting.”

“And what about you? I saw how you looked at Linnea. You were so nice to her—to all of them—like you were trying so hard to impress those people.”

“It is called having manners.”

“You never look at me like that. Why aren’t you ever that polite with me?”

You knew the answer—because you weren’t good enough. You weren’t some high-class snob he needed to impress, you were just a nobody. But he took a long time to reply, as if the question had come as a shock.

“I never thought you wanted that,” he finally said. He grew quiet and serious, talking in a soft voice. “We have always been forthright with each other. You detest false kindness, and that personality is a construction. You know me too well—you know I am a miserable, misanthropic, autocratic, petulant egoist… but you still want to be with me. The flawed fool. That is why I love you, why I could never bear to start over without you. You are the only one who sees me, and still wanted to...” He drifted off and lost his train of thought. “Perhaps I could be kinder. I do not want to lose you. I do not want to drive you away. Sometimes I forget… I forget how to be kind to one I care for most.” Words would not stop spilling from his mouth. He was being unusually candid, a sign that he was still very drunk. “I knew if you came, you would find someone better. You might leave. Maybe not tonight, but you would see what was out there, and eventually...”

“I thought you were embarrassed of me.”

“That too.”

”Ah.”

A sleepy, squinty-eyed smile lit his face as he thought he about it. “You are so very unrefined, and yet irresistibly appealing. Do you realize you could charm anyone? That you would choose to stay with me is...” He sighed and swung his head loosely until it came to rest against the side window with a dull thunk. He frowned. “Victor and I are the same age, and he has a wife, and children… he treats space men. I can never measure up to his accomplishments.”

“Well that’s a dumb way to look at life, you ding-dong.”

His hangover growled and glared at you through heavily squinted eyelids.

“Life isn’t measured in the number of achievements you’ve tallied up.” You risked taking your hand off the fiddly antique gearstick to reach for him, and he hummed with affection as your fingers interlocked. “I’m not going to trade you in for a better model. I love my misanthropic, petulant Frederick. I’ll take him as-is. I don’t know why you think I’m going to leave you, but I won’t. I love you.”

  *****

You drove him back to your apartment at his request, because, quote: I love and respect the fuck out of you, baby. He would later vehemently deny phrasing it that way. Then he dropped off into sleep again with his head against the window for the remainder of the drive.

His car stuck out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood, as did he in his thousand-dollar suit, but it was sweet that he wanted to stay on your turf for a change.

He whined, stretching out cramped muscles as he settled into the pillows. You spread out on the blankets next to him, admiring his restraint in not complaining about the thread count. You had to confess, your own bed felt stiflingly small compared to what you were now used to.

Quiet, murmured conversation filled the dark long into the night, talking about your fears and jealousy. You confessed how inadequate you felt in his world, how it much stung when he smiled at that beautiful woman. He didn’t tease you like you thought he would, but comforted you honestly that you had nothing to fear—he would never.

“She seemed more your type than me,” you mumbled into a pillow, remembering the glamorous woman.

“Linnea? Don’t be ridiculous—you know my type. You.”

You emitted an incoherent trill of bird and chipmunk noises as your cheeks went red. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you against him, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. A question had been nagging at your mind for weeks whose answer seemed obvious now, but you still had to ask it.

“Frederick… are we a couple?”

The gentle rise and fall of his chest stopped abruptly. “What would you like us to be?” he carefully asked after a few tense seconds.

You swallowed. He was putting it all on you, then. It would destroy you if he said you’re too demanding, clingy, or moving too fast, but it gave you encouragement that he was literally clinging to your body like a tipsy koala.

“I want you to be my boyfriend. I don’t want to be with anyone else. And I don’t want you running off on random dates with random Vanessas to make me jealous.”

“How old-fashioned,” he quipped, trying to sound nonchalant while a wide smile beamed quietly across his face, cheeks red with an alcohol-assisted flush. “You want to be mine, then?” he nuzzled his nose against you.

“Yes, I do,” you breathed, fireworks going off in your stomach.

He melted at the confession, and spent the rest of the night curled around you possessively, dreaming of sweet visions that were, for once, uninterrupted by nightmares.

  *****

His hips jerked rhythmically up into you as you rode him, his fingers searching, clawing up your back. His hungry mouth left dark bruises as he nipped and sucked his way up your throat, snarling against your skin. “Frederick!” You gasped and moaned with each bite. You knew he was leaving marks above your collar that you’d have to creatively hide, or make excuses for (or just deal with everyone at work knowing), and that he was doing it on purpose, but you didn’t care. It was exciting having him claim you.

As his nips and kisses crested the outline of your jaw, you dipped your chin down and took his mouth. His lips were soft and yielding to you, but burning with heat and hunger and already wet from the sloppy work he made of your neck, and he moaned your name with needy satisfaction as you kissed him, his eyes closing. His tongue slipped between your lips, tracing the inside flesh and the outline of your teeth without interrupting the rhythm of his thrusting hips that worked you open and built up a sensational throb.

Your breath and sweat mingled as you rocked together, intertwined. His helpless, pleading noises drove you crazy as he whined and growled, making you buck against him harder just to draw more sounds from him and watch his face as he lost himself completely. The throbbing between your legs roared to a frenzy as he arched beneath you and his pace became erratic, each thrust driving deeper, hips snapping against you roughly as his cock buried its full length deep inside.

The warmth of his seed flooded you, but he pulled out quickly before he was completely finished, flipped you onto your back and kneeled over you. His hand frenetically stroked his cock until long lines of hot cum drizzled your stomach.

He leaned over you and kissed you ferociously, a clashing of teeth and tongues, while you curled your fingers through his hair and continued rocking your hips against his leg chasing your unfulfilled release. “Mine,” he smiled against your lips.

He sat up, breathless and content.

You looked down at the sticky mess he made of your torso. “Marking your territory?”

“You make me sound like a dog lifting his leg.” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Aren’t you, essentially...?” you began to tease, but gave up with a shake of your head. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but you grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Work, my dear.”

“I don’t think so.” You pulled him back into bed, pressed him down on his back and climbed on top of him, angling your hips into his mouth. “You still have a job to do here.”

“You’re sticky!” he complained, squirming under you.

“I know. You made such a mess, doctor. Help me?”

He glared up petulantly between your thighs, but a coy pout spread over his lips, and one of his long fingers traced the length of your leg. He does ever so love it when you call him doctor.

“Very well,” he conceded as you grabbed the back of his head and rode his face into the pillow.

  *****

Hannibal the Cannibal was finally captured, and Frederick Chilton wrote the definitive book on him. And by “definitive,” you meant full of lies, sleaze, and enough half-truths that nobody would know the difference.

How could you complain? It worked.

He got a bestseller, and the next three years were a whirlwind of book tours, press releases, panels, and all the fame and respect he ever wanted. It was a good thing you were there to make sure it didn’t go to his head! (In reality, the mild-but-constant aching of his left cheek was enough to keep him as humble as Chilton-ly possible—which was, admittedly, extremely arrogant.)

He stepped away from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, leaving it under the care of Dr. Alana Bloom. According to Dr. Chilton, it was to focus on writing and speaking engagements for which he was hotly in demand, however the decision came just weeks after you warned him to stay away from Hannibal Lecter.

“I am writing a book about him. Stay away?” he mocked. “Do you know how long I have waited to have him in captivity? In my facility?”

“Don’t be an idiot! Trying to get revenge by being his jailer is just poking the bear.”

“The ‘bear’ will be spending the rest of his days rotting behind bars,” he replied in a honeyed voice dripping with sarcasm. “You cannot deny me the pleasure of watching him grow old and infirm, slowly forgotten by the world as his teeth one by one fall out.”

“You always do this—you always think you’re above danger, and then it comes back to bite you! Hannibal will find a way to hurt you if you piss him off.”

“You give the man far too much credit,” he scoffed.

“Stop trying to get revenge.” You stepped close, tapping the chest of his tattersall dress shirt. “Focus on what you still have instead of everything you’ve lost.”

“You mean you?” he quirked a brow, scoffing. “I did not think you so trite.”

“I mean your other eye, asshole! I mean your life!”

Tempers flared as you snarled in each other’s faces, and twenty minutes and several broken pieces of office decor later, you rolled off of each other feeling much calmer.

“Stay away from him,” you started again, softer this time, your hand buried under the unbuttoned opening of his shirt. “I don’t want him in your head. Everyone changes when they’re around him for too long, and I don’t want you to turn into someone else. I don’t want to lose you. Just walk away this time. Please?”

And he did. And for three entire years, he wasn’t brutally maimed.

[artificialqueens]

Hold Me Tighter (Even Closer), Chapter 3 (Branjie, Jankie) - Joley

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Brooke Lynn furrowed her brows and strummed her fingers against the table. “So, let me see if I’ve got this right – you invited Jan over to practice for her audition, got wine drunk, then dry-humped until she got off?”

Jackie nodded in confirmation, her eyes fixated more on her coffee cup than Brooke – she had to build back up to being able to make eye-contact. “Then in the morning she was gone and she left me a note,” she finished, holding the piece of paper up. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t your smartest move,” she told her, trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. “But if she just left like that, she’s probably just as scared as you are. Listen, the first day I met Vanessa was a mess. I walked her home from work that night, kissed her, and then literally ran away. She still makes fun of me for it.”

The story made Jackie laugh, but it caught her by surprise as well. She had always seen Brooke as someone so unshakably confident. “I guess if things worked out for you guys, all hope isn’t totally lost…” She took another sip from her drink and sighed. “I still don’t know how I’m going to face her in class on Monday,” she admitted.

Brooke reached across the table and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just focus on your work. I promise I’ll find something to keep you busy, okay?” As much as she wanted to continue her matchmaking game, she could see that the tension needed to diffuse before she tried to push them closer. Just because Katya lucked out didn’t mean lightning would strike twice.

Jackie’s entire body relaxed in relief. She was still anxious about seeing Jan again, but it meant a lot to know that Brooke was looking out for her. “Okay. Yes, thank you. I can work with that.” She nodded, then checked her phone. “I have to get going, though. I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she gathered her things, including the note that she tucked into her pocket.

Brooke smiled and waved her off. She stayed put, though. She was expecting Vanessa any minute now. They liked meeting here when they could, after all, it was the café A’keria recently became the owner of, the same one she’d started working in after the Starbucks fiasco all those years ago. It was sentimental to them now.

“Hey boo,” Vanessa greeted as she walked in, leaning over and giving her wife a kiss before sitting down. “Must’ve just missed Jackie, how’s she doing?”

“The poor girl is going through it,” Brooke shook her head sympathetically. “She and Jan got drunk and fooled around, and Jan left before she woke up. She left a Post-It or something.”

Vanessa frowned and shook her head. “Mh-mm, I hate Post-Its. If you’re gonna dip, send a text like a normal person,” she mused.

“Maybe she thought a handwritten note would be more meaningful,” she reasoned. “Regardless, she’s just gonna need some time to recover before we continue with any matchmaking shenanigans.”

Vanessa gave a firm nod of agreement. “Understood.” She sat quietly for a moment, strumming her fingernails against the table. “I wanna talk about the baby thing.”

Brooke blinked in surprise at the abrupt subject change but leaned in to listen attentively nonetheless. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

“Listen… I know we got good genes and all, but I don’t wanna create a baby in a lab when there are so many kids that need a family. I had friends in foster care when I was little, you know? That shit must’ve really sucked for them. And I just think… You and me are in a position to really help a kid out,” she told her, then held her breath as she waited for her wife’s response.

Brooke reached across the table and held Vanessa’s hands. “Baby girl, if that’s what you want, I am a hundred percent on board. I think that’s a wonderful motivation to adopt. We can start looking at agencies as soon or as late as you want. I’m in this with you all the way,” her thumb stroked over Vanessa’s wedding band. “That’s what I promised you. That’s the promise I make to you every day as your wife.”

Vanessa blinked and looked down. “Shit, you gonna make me cry,” she mumbled, giving Brooke’s hand a light squeeze to reassure her she was okay. “Guess we gotta think about redecorating the guest room then, huh?”

“You know my weakness for interior design,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to the back of Vanessa’s hand.

—

By the time Monday rolled around, Jackie had talked herself out of most of her anxiety. When the time was right, she thought, she could talk things out with Jan. But until then, she had a job to do, a job that she did like.

Jackie’s main task was to write a lot of information on the chalkboard. It was perfect as far as she was concerned – having her back to the class meant she didn’t have to worry about making awkward eye contact with Jan. She had to admit, it was kind of a genius move on Brooke’s part.

Jan, however, was left with a predicament of her own. She and Gigi had sat in the front because even with contacts or glasses, they were both nearsighted as all hell. However, this put Jackie right in her line of sight, and she immediately began regretting her decision.

While the dress Jackie wore came down to her knees, the fabric clung to her body in a way that accentuated some of her best physical features.

And Jan hadn’t meant to stare – staring was rude and her mother taught her better. But she would be damned if Jackie’s ass wasn’t hypnotizing her. She couldn’t help but wonder how she hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re gonna snap your pen in half with the way you’re biting it,” Gigi poked Jan’s shoulder, snapping her friend out of her trance. “Also, some subtlety really wouldn’t hurt you right now.”

Jan blushed, looking down at her notes, which were nowhere near as detailed as usual. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gigi chuckled. “Please, your eyes were about to burn a hole into her butt.”

“They were not, I was just reading the board,” she insisted, but now that she had to actively avoid staring, her body seemed all the more compelled to continue. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to get her mind and body on the same page.

“Hey, you have good taste, I’m just saying be less obvious about it.”

Jan just buried her face in her notes, hoping that if she focused on getting work done, her mind would stop conjuring images of Jackie in various states of undress.

“…And that’ll just about do it,” Brooke Lynn was saying. “You guys are free to go, see you Wednesday.” She closed her book, punctuating the dismissal. Her eyes followed the students out of the room, waiting until they were alone before speaking to Jackie. “How are you feeling?”

Jackie exhaled deeply, dropping herself down onto the desk closest to Brooke’s as if she were dead weight. “I feel okay. I think not having to look at her made it easy. Have you seen her eyes? They’re so warm and brown and–”

“–And couldn’t stay off of you,” Brooke finished with a smirk. “Jackie, she is hot for you, you should’ve seen how she was staring at you. I already knew you have a great ass, but damn, it had a magnetic pull on that poor girl.”

Jackie turned a shade of red deeper and brighter than it had ever been. She suddenly became hyper-aware of her body, not necessarily in a self-conscious way – in fact, part of her was flattered – but it was overwhelming to process at first. “I guess she might not regret the other night that much then,” she managed with a strangled laugh.

“Honey, it’s pretty clear she wants a repeat performance. I wasn’t even paying all that much attention to her, but I swear I almost offered her a towel,” she chuckled.

Even though Jan was long gone, Jackie looked out of the classroom and into the hall, as if she could still catch sight of her. “I never thought I’d be relieved to be objectified,” she mused.

Brooke let out a light laugh at that. “So you’ll go talk to her?”

She shook her head as her gaze drifted back to the desk. “Not yet. Soon… Hopefully soon. I think I’ll know when I’m ready.”

—

“Well, other than you ogling the TA you fooled around with, I think today went well,” Gigi said as they walked back to the residence hall. “You ready for your audition later?”

“I wasn’t ogling her.” Jan chewed on her lip. “Don’t laugh, but…” She shifted awkwardly as she looked anywhere but directly at her friend. “I’m worried I might be too… distracted to nail it.”

Gigi looked at her friend with an arched brow. “First of all, yes you were. We established this. Second, you think you’ll be too horny to focus on singing?” She really did try her best not to laugh, but a small giggle slipped through. “Babe, just masturbate like a normal person before you go.”

She huffed. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? Lem’s probably gonna be in there, what am I supposed to do, tell her to leave so I can jerk off? We’re close, Geege, but I think there’s a line.”

“Then go in the shower. Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you?” Gigi rolled her eyes.

“You don’t think it’s weird to get off thinking about someone you’re not dating?” Jan asked quietly.

Her friend pinched the bridge of her nose. “At this point I just think you need to do it so you stop sounding so neurotic and paranoid. Hell, if I wasn’t in a committed relationship, I’d offer to help you out myself.”

Jan cocked her head to the side. “Thanks, I think.”

When Jan did get back to the dorm, she saw Lemon on her bed with her AirPods in, just as she’d anticipated. She waved at her to get her attention, waiting for her to take one of them out. “Hey sweetie, I’m just gonna shower before my audition. You know, get nice and calm,” she told her.

Lemon smiled and nodded. “Oh shit, I forgot that was today. Break a leg! But like, not in the shower. That would be bad.”

Jan chuckled as she grabbed what she needed to bring into the bathroom. “I don’t know where I’d be without your wisdom, doll,” she winked playfully before leaving.

The first thing Jan did once she got in the shower was put music on – this wasn’t her first rodeo, so to speak. Even with earbuds in, she knew she ran the risk of Lemon hearing her moan if she didn’t drown it out. With the music playing and water running, Jan undressed and stepped into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief the second the hot water hit her body.

After she washed her hair, Jan leaned against the shower wall, resting her head against the cool tile. She let her hand travel down her body. There was a moment of hesitation when her fingers grazed over her pussy, but after a deep breath, she began rubbing her clit with two fingers. Her eyes fluttered shut as soft, breathy moans slipped out.

“Fuck…” Jan wasn’t thinking about anything at first, but without even trying, her thoughts drifted to Jackie, to what happened the other night, to that day in class. And once she got started, there was no chance of stopping. “Oh, Jackie…” she moaned, rocking against her fingers. Her free hand went to her breast, groping it, and tweaking her nipple.

By the time her orgasm hit, Jan needed to rest her entire weight against the wall to keep herself up. Her legs were shaking and she was whimpering, taking deep breaths as she finally felt sturdy enough to stand back upright. After that, she just did a quick wash off her face and body before getting out and drying off, going back into the bedroom wrapped up in her robe shortly after.

“Hey, feeling any better?” Lemon asked casually. It was clear she hadn’t moved an inch this whole time, nor was she aware of what Jan had gotten up to.

“Much better, actually,” Jan nodded, taking the towel wrap off of her head and combing her hair out. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” she asked as she continued getting ready.

Lemon paused her music and took out her earbuds, she had been waiting for an opportunity to talk about herself. “Actually, I’m meeting up with a girl later.” She didn’t wait for Jan to ask before she continued. “Okay, so, like, I had just lit a joint and I see this really pretty girl – tall, you know how I like ‘em – and she seems hella stressed, so I offer her a hit. So, we’re smoking and chatting and long story short, we have a date tonight.”

“That was the short version?” Jan teased as she got dressed. “I’m guessing it’ll be more of the same?”

She scoffed. “No… We’ll probably fuck too.”

Jan laughed softly as she straightened her hair, then pulled it up into a high ponytail. “Well, it’s always nice to have an itinerary,” she hummed. “I’ll see you later.”

—

“Next!”

Jan stepped onto the stage and held herself with confidence. She introduced herself, handed the sheet music to the pianist, and then she simply did what she did best; she sang. She gave it her all, emoting all the right words, belting all the right notes. There was a lingering rush of adrenaline when she finished. “Thank you,” she smiled politely and made her way off stage.

“Great job up there,” a distinct voice out of seemingly nowhere caused Jan to jump, startled.

“Oh, thanks Vanjie,” Jan smiled, running her fingers through her ponytail. “I didn’t realize anyone other than the directors were watching.”

Vanessa shrugged. “People gave up tryna tell me what to do a long time ago. Except for Brooke, but there’s always an exception for the wife. But anyway… you feelin’ okay? I don’t know all the details, but I know you had a rough weekend.”

Of course, Jan figured Vanessa knew more than she let on – she could safely assume Jackie told Brooke, and Brooke told Vanessa. But she hoped some details had gotten lost in translation. “Oh, yeah, I guess,” she bounced awkwardly on the balls of her feet. “Things are a little weird, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Listen, I’ve been in your shoes. The worst thing you can do is overthink it. Brooke did it, Jackie does it, and I get the vibe you do too. Not everything’s as deep as y’all make it out to be, you know?”

Jan chewed her lip and nodded. Sure, she knew Vanessa was right, but it was easier said than done. It wasn’t something she could simply stop doing, something she could just turn on and off at will. “The situation’s just… It’s complicated. But I get what you’re saying, I do,” she assured. “All I wanna focus on now is being able to sleep tonight so I can be ready to see if I got a callback tomorrow.”

Vanessa gave Jan’s arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “You got this. Ain’t no one around you doubting that.”

And Jan tried her best to take that to heart, she tried to stay positive the rest of the night, to turn her brain off when it was finally time to sleep. She was pretty sure she passed out at nearly three in the morning, but as soon as her alarm went off, she shot right out of bed.

Lemon rolled onto her side, watching Jan scramble to get ready with energy from god knows where. “How the fuck do you do that?” she mumbled groggily.

Jan shrugged as she brushed her hair. “It’s a blessing and a curse, Lem.” She checked her phone. “The callback list should be up by the time I get there,” she murmured, offering a quick goodbye to her roommate before she was out the door.

By the time she got to the auditorium, there was already a small group of hopeful actors forming outside the doors. And as soon as the list went up, they all crowded around it.

Too impatient to wait, Jan made her way to the front, offering haphazard apologies to everyone she bumped out of the way. It was worth it for the happiness and relief she felt when she saw that she was on the callback list for Veronica.

The first thing she did was call Gigi and did her best to not scream into the phone. “I got a callback! And there were only two other girls listed for Veronica, Geege, I’m this close to getting it. I can taste it.”

“That’s my girl, I knew you’d crush it,” Gigi replied. “You’re gonna nail the callback too, and don’t be afraid to take my advice again if you need it.”

Jan furrowed her brows. “How did you know I followed your advice?”

Gigi had a smug grin that Jan swore she could feel through the phone. “I didn’t.”

[sweetcatmintea]

So I’m a Vampire now...

Hello hello! It’s flash fiction Friday again! (Hurray!) Guess who still hasn’t learnt to stick to a word limit: This creature! (I’m so sorry <u<;;;;) Anyways, this kinda snuck up on me and I couldn’t think of anything better than this little vampire drabble. I hope you enjoy it!  Feedback is appreciated ^u^

FFF is hosted by @flashfictionfridayofficial

Prompt: Deep End Words: 1665

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“And we’ll have fun fun fun unt- Michael, put the rock down.” I hoped my voice conveyed how done I was with his reaction. Michael stood, back to the old jeep his mum let him borrow when he mowed the lawn, arm raised, poised to bash my head in with a sizable chunk of concrete. Vanessa wondered back to him from the direction of the mostly closed shops, an eyebrow quirked above her glasses.

“I swear to god, put the rock down. I’m not here to gogurt you.” Why do I have to be friends with an idiot?

He held firmer to his makeshift weapon. “Prove it. I can see the blood lust in your eyes.”

I pressed a palm into my forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. “Yeah, my eyes dilated. Y’know, that thing that happens when you are happy to see your friends. Go repeat bio. If I was gonna slurp your guts, I wouldn’t be singing the beach boys and waltzing up to you like a door knocker asking for money. Especially not after I asked you for a lift.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at me. “Unless that’s what you want us to think. I know you Jessie. You’re sneaky.”

“Oh my god, why are you so dumb? Vanessa, can you PLEase talk some sense into him.”

Vanessa knocked the rock out of his hand, pitching it across the desolate car park before he could react. She should go into a ball sport. I don’t know, baseball or something. It clattered somewhere in the distance.

“Michael, stop being weird. We both know Jessie could have pinned you before they got turned. Your noodle arms can barely open a particularly sturdy container. You’re just making them feel unwelcomed. And being a trashy friend.”

“All true.” I nodded. “Plus, it’s not like I chose to get turned. If that loser Josh hadn’t done me dirty last week, I’d be at home feeding my Tamagotchi. Has he even reported me missing yet?”

Michael mumbled a sheepish apology. “Sorry, I was just worried you’d gone off the deep end all blood lusty or something…”

I waved it off. I wasn’t really angry. It’s not like we’d exactly been in this situation before.

Vanessa shook her head, giving me a one-armed greeting hug which I, of course, returned. “He hasn’t mentioned it. I mean, you have been reported missing. That was a whole thing that happened with your parents and then us pretending like you weren’t texting us because how do you tell someone their kid is off getting the lowdown on being undead, but yeah, not reported by Josh.”

“What a soggy zit. I swear, when I get my hands on him.”

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” Michael and Vanessa shared a worried look.

“What? No. Of course not! That’s disgusting. You think I’m gonna put my face hole anywhere near that slimy weasel and voluntarily drink two thirds of his blood?? Do you know how long that would even take?”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. “Well, I kinda thought you’d y’know, snap his neck or something now you have super strength…”

“Who’s gone off the deep end now?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not some killing machine. I’ll just dob him in and let him flounder some explanation for how he shoved me at the burglar while we were closing up shop and ran away. He’s lucky it was a vampire and not some lunatic or I’d really be dead.”

Vanessa plopped down on a concrete chock block, sipping her bubble tea and settling in for a long conversation. It was wild, I could hear the jelly in the cup squishing together. Michael sat to her side, patting the ground to invite me to complete the triangle. I obliged.

Vanessa started us off. “So what’s it like? Being all vampirey now?”

“Well, I’ve got cool powers now. Not the powers of being cool, I already had that.”

It was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes at me. I elbowed him in the ribs. Gently. Breaking bones had become a real danger. He snorted a laugh, almost shooting red bull up his nose.

“I got these neato glow in the dark eyes. Don’t know if you can turn that off. They do the cat slit thing though which is interesting. I can see So much more at night. But I think I need reading glasses now? Can’t make out squat near my face in the day.”  

Shuffling around in the pockets of my oversized 90s jacket, I retrieved a packet of dried wasabi peas and munched away as I talked.

“I’m like, crazy strong. No kidding, I accidentally ripped my favourite jeans on the second day of being a vampire. Just tugged them a liiiittle too hard and bam, ruined pants.”

“Have you got fangs?” Vanessa peered closer at my mouth. It would have been better to ask that before I started eating.

“Fangs for the memories, even if they weren’t so- nah, I’m just kidding. I got them.” I bared my teeth at them, poking the lengthened canines with an index finger. “They’re sharp as anything. I’ve drunk more of my own blood than anyone else’s ‘cause I keep biting my freaking tongue. Reminds me of being little and sucking a candy cane into a shank. I’m surprised none of us got an impromptu festive tongue piercing off those things.”

“Speaking of blood… Do you need to drink it now?” They both leaned forward, anxious for my answer.

“Oi, quit it with the looks. I’m not going to freaking bite you. I’m not some mindless animal, I’m just me. Just Jessie.”

“Is there a difference there?” Michael’s ribbing was, for once, welcome.

“Hardy har. Yes, I mean, technically, I have to consume blood. But, like, the pamphlet seems to say that it’s basically a supplement more than anything so I’ve just gotta eat normal stuff and chuck back a shot or two after.”

“Okay, two things. First, human blood?”

“Again. Eww. Do you have any idea how many diseases are in human blood? There’s a reason we haven’t literally eaten the rich yet. To be fair, I’m somewhat immortal now so I won’t get sick physically, but emotionally? Imagine the toll.”

“So how do you..?”

“You know you can just go to the butchers and buy blood right? It’s like an actual cooking ingredient. It comes in blocks. It tastes like satan’s toe jam but you just gotta chuck it back real quick. Or, I’m getting a fondness for black pudding. It too tastes like feet but isn’t as bad.”

Vanessa took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “Okay. Second thing. Pamphlet?”

“Oh yeah, this thing.” I fished it out of my other pocket, passing it to them. The vampire pr committee went to great lengths to make it cute with little cartoon vampires giving advice on this time of change, talking about how your body is changing and the strange things you may feel.

“Aww that’s super cute.” Vanessa pointed to a little vampire on the cover, handing it to Michael when she was finished skimming.

“I know right. Apparently they got tired of the old program where you get bitten and have to have an awkward talk with the weirdo who kinda killed you.”

Michael handed the pamphlet back. “Speaking of, what was it like living with a vampire for a week?”

I groaned. “Oh my god, he was insufferable. At first it was like ‘I vill show you ze vorld, shining shimmering splendour va ha ha’ which was neat but then it got all ‘I’ve turned you into a monster! You will suffer for eternity! Woe is ze life of an immortal. I am so sorry va ha ha’. Which I’m like, yeah you could have at least asked my name first or waited for my hair to grow out a little instead of sticking me with this too short for the long style, too long for the short style do I’ve gotta rock for the rest of time, but all in all, it’s not the worst that could happen so chill a little maybe?”

“Aw, poor guy. He doesn’t sound that bad.” Vanessa was much less, judgey, than me. I kinda felt bad for ripping on the man.

“Okay, he’s not terrible, but the lamenting. God, the lamenting. ‘Woe is me, I have seen so many seasons I can not even remember my age.’ Why don’t you just get a calculator and subtract this year from your birth year? Then you can know that bit. ‘Oh, but ze isolation! My human friends are long dead and buried!’ That’s super sucky bro. Why don’t you make some new friends and ask if they want to be turned? Or like, go on immortalsingles.com and get a butt touch buddy? With the internet age, it’s a lot easier to connect. ‘oh but who could love a monster like me? I haven’t even seen my face in five hundred years va ha ha.’ There is a Whole genre of people online (and in line) for that. And just, update your mirrors. Get a cheap one and it won’t have silver in it and you can see your face again. I kinda think he just enjoys lamenting. If he’d get with the times, things wouldn’t be half as unpleasant for him.”

“You’re not a very empathetic listener, are you.” That’s a lot coming from the guy who was going to stone me fifteen minutes ago.

“Hey! I hooked him up to the internet and gave him my number. I didn’t just leave him.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say Jessie.” Michael got up, brushing his jeans off and stretching. Vanessa and I followed suit. One thing remained on my mind. Something I needed to prepare myself for.

“Okay, before we head home, I have one last, very important question.”

They looked at me quizzically.

“Has anyone been looking after my Tamagotchi?”  

-----

Tag List

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 13

<= Chapter 12

Summary : Snatcher finally gets some "me-time" and everything goes perfectly well! Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/56310040

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Sorry for posting late, but I promise I had a reason to wait. I'm keeping it secret for now, but believe me, it's worth it ! In the meantime, I had the time to finish two future drawings AND the next chapter (which has been SUPER HARD TO WRITE, UUUGH), so I used my time well !

The two drawings you'll see are mine. Sorry if the second one is only a sketch, I didn't have the inspiration or motivation to finish it. I hope you'll still like it nonetheless !

A big thanks to Krekka01 for the correction on this chapter !

Anyway, I hope everyone is fine and safe. Happy reading !

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Chapter 13

Being human was all about feeling things again, Snatcher knew this very well at this point. However, he has mostly experienced bad sensations, such as pain, discomfort, the strange taste and texture of food in his mouth, and having to go to the toilet again. Compared to this, actual good things seemed much less significant. It was a shame, since the ghost couldn’t deny that some experience had been enjoyable with that old body of his: sleeping was enjoyable, just lying down on his bed had been, too. Feeling the wind caressing his face, not feeling cold all the time anymore, being able to feel warm after hundreds of years, smelling food or flowers once again, and experiencing the sense of touch for the first time in centuries. Being human had its pros and cons, even if the cons were more noticeable. Furthermore, the situation he was in didn’t let him appreciate those little things since his mind was focused on something very important: leaving this place as soon as possible.

So, when the shade opened the door of the bathroom, he felt like he had just hit his head against an invisible wall made of many scents. All of Snatcher’s senses were sharp and entering a room with so many toiletries, so many soaps or creams. The ghost’s acute sense of smell was instantly attacked by all the perfumes floating around in that cramped space. He squinted, feeling a headache coming by just how strong the scents where.

-“Oh, this is going to be awful, isn’t it…” he murmured to himself, forcing his legs to move forward. Warmness and humidity floated in the room along with the smells. The bathroom wasn’t very big, despite having been made for the royalty. A big bathtub was in front of him, adjacent to the wall, full of steaming water. The bathtub, just like the bathroom itself, had brown and dark green as the main colour scheme. The walls were beautifully textured and, at some places, had a wooden inlay. Just like he remembered.

Snatcher jumped when something moved in the corner of his vision. He almost facepalmed when it turned out to be his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. He stopped for a few seconds, looking at himself: apparently, humans could look even deader than actual ghosts, good to know. His face was pale, and he had dark rings around his eyes. He had slept plenty the night before, though the day had been quite gruelling, both physically and emotionally speaking. The shade ran his hand through his hair as he sighed longly. Yeah, maybe a bath could be good for him, right now. He threw a last glance at his reflection before turning away. He didn’t want to undress while facing it. Being inside a human body was already disgusting as it was, he didn’t need to see himself naked even more than what he was forced to!

As he turned away, he noticed a pile of clean and elegant clothes on a small table near the sink. They were carefully folded, probably by Simeon. The thought made him anxious again. He didn’t know why, however, he couldn’t help but have a very bad feeling about the “butler”. What he had just seen earlier was quite revealing on the dangerous nature of this new opponent: the latter had been able to scare Vanessa so easily, and Snatcher was sure that it wasn’t an empty threat. Whoever was that guy, he was powerful enough to threaten Vanessa and powerful enough to create a whole dimension himself. This was quite discouraging, to say the least. In this body, Snatcher clearly had no chance.

The ghost shook his head. He needed to think about a plan, not about how risky his situation was. Plus, he hated to think about it, but… he couldn’t forget the fact that he wasn’t alone: the kid was still on her spaceship. She was safer there than where he was, so, for now, the ghost only had to worry about himself.

Turning his back to the mirror, he started to undress. In the right pocket of his pants was the remote given by the hat-wearing brat. It was a bright yellow device with a huge red button in its centre. According to her, if he ever needed to flee or to come onto her spaceship, he would only need to press the button, and it would teleport him to her living room. Snatcher didn’t need to use it right now; however, this was a device he absolutely couldn’t allow himself to lose. He hid it in his used pile of clothes while reminding himself that he would have to take the remote with him before giving said clothes to the servants.

He put the pile on the ground and faced a shelf on which were stocked several soaps, shower gels, shampoos and creams. The ghost frowned, as he tried to remember which was which. Some were missing any label to tell the shade what was what, and he ended up using his memory to pick the good products. He wasn’t really sure but, hey, smelling good was the most important part, right? Plus, it’s not like he would be using this poor excuse of a body more than a few days, so having a wash was just a formality at this point.

He put the products on one of the edges of the bathtub and, slowly and cautiously, entered the bath, starting with the left leg. The instant the warm water touched his skin, Snatcher couldn’t help but get his leg out quickly. The hot temperature associated with his acute sense of touch… it was almost too much.

The ghost hesitated. Should he wait for the water to cool down? The idea of taking a cold bath didn’t tempt him very much, even less than a warm bath. After a few seconds debating with himself, Snatcher rolled his eyes: he had seen much worse than hot water! He was a ghost who had killed many people, for God’s sake!

Still unsure, the shade tried entering the bath again. The hardest part was to ignore his brain screaming at him to get out. The water wasn’t burning, the problem was completely different: Snatcher had forgotten what water felt around his skin, and the new sensation made him extremely uneasy. Plus, the pain in his legs was still there. However, he managed to stay calm and let his body sink under the water, slowly. He gradually let his muscles relax one after the other. With time, he was soon lying down in the bathtub, his head on the headrest behind him.

“Now what?” he wondered, ill-at-ease. He knew what he had to do in theory, yes, but actually doing it was quite… awkward. Not only was he terribly uncomfortable at the idea of touching his own body meticulously, but the action felt so foreign to him as well. Even if he was able to stand up or move his arms without too much difficulty, doing precise gestures was… a little more complicated.

Snatcher carefully took one of the bottles of shower gels and poured some on his other hand, clumsily. A small portion of it fell in the water and the ghost sighed, irritated by his own heavy-handedness. He absolutely couldn’t wait to be back in his spectral form! At least, this one was easy to move around.

Washing himself after so many years without doing so was definitely an experience to Snatcher. His movements were gauche, and he almost let the shampoo bottle fall in the water. Other than that, the feeling of warmness around him was… not bad, if he had to be completely honest. Yes, it had made him uneasy at first, but now that several minutes had passed, the shade felt truly relaxed for the first time in days.

He rinsed his head and skin underwater, and eventually settled in the bathtub, letting his mind wandering around. The first thought that came to him was the “Simeon” problem. The shade had absolutely no idea about who that guy could be. But what was even harder to figure out was the stranger’s motives. What did he want? In what way could all of this benefit him at all? Snatcher didn’t know. He felt like there was some missing piece in his mind, and that he wouldn’t be able to understand anything without it.

The ghost was getting nowhere; he didn’t have enough information to try and guess who that “Simeon” could be. Though, he was certain of one thing: “Simeon” was only a disguise. There was no way the real Simeon could have helped Vanessa build this dimension, as the butler was dead in the present. So… it was only a mask, used to fool him and possibly Vanessa. From what he had heard before, he couldn’t be completely sure if she was aware of the stranger’s disguise or not. However, it was probable, as she wouldn’t have been scared of her own butler otherwise.

Snatcher let his head sink underwater as his mind was trying to come up with hypothesises, in vain. Maybe the kid would know more about what was going on? He supposed that she probably looked up for clues as well, along with fixing her spaceship.

When the ghost felt the need to breathe again, he got his head out of the water and sat down in the bathtub. How long had he been in the bathroom? There was no clock in the room, so there was no real way to know. However, judging from the wrinkles on the tip of his fingers, long enough to get out now.

Grabbing one of the nearby towels, the shade stood up and started wiping his wet body. The action was uncomfortable; not only getting out of the warm water made him feel cold suddenly, but the towel wasn’t really soft and scratched his skin. He quickly dried the rest of his body, wanting nothing more than for it to be over with.

The shade then grabbed the clean clothes and put them on, not without the usual clumsiness associated with his human body. He was now wearing an elegant dark purple shirt, decorated with golden embroidery on the collar. The shoulder pads were golden as well, from which were sewed many strings in the same colour. A long and graceful yellow cape came with it, and Snatcher put it on as well. He was also wearing dark brown skin-tight pants and black and golden boots.

Once fully dressed, the shade made sure to take the remote from his old clothes, this time hiding it in his left boot, against his calf. It was not a pleasant sensation, but it was the best hiding spot with this kind of apparel. He just hoped he wouldn’t press on the button by accident.

He came back to the mirror to do his head, and couldn’t help but be surprised at how much a bath could do to his face. He still looked tired, but at least it was less obvious. He looked so much better- less pale now. He supposed he really did need this bath, after all. And, even if he didn’t like to admit anything relatively positive on his human body, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was more handsome than usual, which was… a good thing? He didn’t know what to think of it, and most of his emotions were mixed feelings: pride, and irritation. In the end, it was hard for him to really think of this body as his. Sure, he recognized his reflection! But the whole situation was extremely weird and uncomfortable for him.

He was about to look away when, suddenly, the surface of the mirror turned completely black. It happened in a blink, and it instantly caught back Snatcher’s attention on it. The ghost’s knitted his brows, examining the surface with caution. What was that? The kid had never talked about that kind of thing!

The shade lifted his hand and, with hesitation, slowly put a finger against the cold surface. He was almost surprised to see that nothing seemed very much different, apart from the sudden non-reflective nature of the mirror. It didn’t reflect anything, as if someone had painted it black entirely. The texture was yet just as smooth as before, which was strange.

Snatcher stepped back, trying to find any explanation regarding that weird phenomenon. Yet, everything looked just as normal. Or, well, almost everything. When his eyes fell on the bath, still full of water, he noticed something very peculiar: the foam of the shower gel was not above the water like it should have been, floating on the surface. Instead, it was floating underneath the water level. This sight made the ghost pause, as if his brain was trying to decode something which was wrong in the first place... as if he was trying to explain an optical illusion. He simply couldn’t. All he knew was that it wasn’t supposed to happen.

-“What the…?” He turned around, trying to find new evidence of weirdness in his surroundings. Something else felt wrong, but, at first, nothing looked out of the ordinary. It took him a while to figure out what was bothering him, and yet it was so obvious: his shadow on the ground didn’t correspond to his human one. It was his spectral one, which had no legs.

The realization made him lose his balance, and he had to hold onto the sink not to fall down. What was happening? Was the rift already collapsing? The kid had told him they had several days left, not a few hours!

Snatcher’s breathing quickened, just like his heartbeat, while he looked all around himself, trying to look for any sign of danger. His eyes moved and examined every suspicious object. However, a few seconds passed without anything new happening. The ghost waited for a bit, trying to find anything unusual. He blinked and looked around, only to realize that things went back to normal.

Snatcher didn’t know how to react. His first reaction was to check on his shadow, in order to see if it was still his spectral one. It wasn’t anymore. Just the regular human one with legs. Behind him, the mirror was back to its previous state, showing the reflection of the room just like his.

The spirit looked just like he had seen a ghost. The thought made him laugh grudgingly as he ran his hand through his hair. It took him a moment to calm down. Okay. So the rift was doing unexpected things, just like the white cracks he had seen the day before, though these were apparently the brat’s doing. Was what just happened caused by the kid’s actions, too? He really hoped so, as the contrary could only mean one thing: the dimension was collapsing much quicker than what they had anticipated, and, in that case, they really needed to leave right now. The guy associated with Vanessa seemed to want him to stay there, though. Was he aware of the instability of the rift? If so, what was he trying to do? There were many faster ways to permanently make a ghost disappear! So why bother with a plot like this? It didn’t make any sense, but that wasn’t really new to Snatcher. Nothing made sense in that dimension.

He had to find that Time Piece and bring it to the hat-wearing child.

Once he got his breathing under control again, he straightened up, looking at his reflection once more. Well, at least he looked more presentable now. His surroundings seemed to stay normal. Maybe it was just a false alarm? He hated to say it... even think about it, but… the ghost couldn’t help but wish for the kid to reassure him, as she was the only person able to explain what was going on to him. He quickly pushed away that thought from his mind. Ha, good one, him wishing the child was there with him, pshhh. Damn human brain and human thoughts.

After a few minutes, the shade shook his head and pulled himself together. Now was not the time; he had things to do, especially that doctor appointment in his room. The sooner he would be able to walk without wincing, the better! And, in the middle of the night, he would try and look for the Time Piece in the manor.

He opened the bathroom door and left the room. He definitely had a lot in his plate.

The spirit walked back to his bedroom and, just to be sure, stick his ear on the door. However, no voices could be heard. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

A man was standing near the windows, looking at the outside with interest. He seemed to be in his late forties and had salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a long black coat and was holding a leather satchel. Said man turned towards Snatcher as he heard the door opening behind him.

-“Oh, Prince Alistel!” exclaimed the man, bowing with respect before continuing. “Excuse me for the intrusion. My name is Walter Gyfford. I’m the doctor you asked for.”

Snatcher suddenly realized he had a role to play and put a fake smile on his lips as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. He stepped forward to meet the doctor:

-“Oh, of course!” the shade replied with an insincere joy. He then pointed at himself. “Hum, do I need to undress?” What was the use of letting him new clothes if he had to take them off a few minutes later? The man smiled and shook his head as he let out a small laugh.

-“No, no, you don’t have to, I can heal your legs through your clothes.” The doctor then pointed to the   bed with his hand. “Please sit on the bed, if that’s alright with you, your majesty.”

Snatcher hated those names. He had nothing to do with royalty anymore, and really didn’t want to, anyway. Yet, he said nothing and kept his polite expression on his face, reluctantly sitting down on the mattress. He carefully took his boots off, doing his best not to press the button on the remote still hidden in his shoes. Snatcher had to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief as he put the shoes aside.

The doctor kneeled in front of him, opening his satchel and taking out very different items, such as plants and crystals. It took him a while for him to settle everything down as he wanted, but eventually rose his head to meet Snatcher’s stare.

-“I’m sorry, it might hurt a bit, since it’s a serious injury. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Snatcher couldn’t help but laugh at the doctor’s attempt to reassure him. He had been left to die in a cellar! What could be more painful than that? No matter how painful something could be, he could take it at this point!

-“Don’t worry about me, I’m ready,” he flippantly replied, shaking his head, this time with a sincere smile painted on his lips. The doctor seemed hesitant at his answer, but simply nodded as he began to use his magic.

Snatcher didn’t think it would be that painful. Maybe it only lasted a few minutes, but it lasted far, far more to the ghost. Healing magic wasn’t so painful usually, though his situation wasn’t really usual in itself. He could feel things moving in his legs as the doctor was trying to fix what was broken or just injured in general. Staying motionless was extremely hard, and he had to stop his body from crying from how intense it was for him. It was utterly humiliating. The pain was so strong and made him want nothing more than just rip the guy’s throat open. Fortunately for the latter, the pain started to fade the moment Snatcher seriously considered that option.

The doctor stepped back, his forehead sweating. His face clearly showed how uncomfortable he was at the moment.

-“Are you alright, my Prince?” asked the doctor, continuing in a more reassuring tone. “It’s over now. It won’t hurt anymore.”

Snatcher felt like he was being spoken to like a child, and he loathed that. Though he had to push his pride aside to stay in character. God, he hated having to act like the dumb prince he used to be.

-“Thank you,” he still managed to say, gritting his teeth to gulp down all the threats that might come out of his mouth. He wanted to kill that man so bad now. Luckily for the doctor, Snatcher was in no condition to do so, especially since he also needed to keep a low profile. But that didn’t prevent him from imagining himself doing so. It was deeply enjoyable.

Well, at least, his legs felt good for once, so he supposed that it was worth it. The doctor eventually stood up and bowed once again to him.

-“I’m sorry it was painful. Make sure to limit the physical efforts, and you’ll be perfectly fine!”

The spirit simply replied by a nod, as the doctor turned towards the door. No physical efforts? Well, this was going to be difficult with what he had in mind for the night, but he obviously kept that part for himself.

Just as the doctor was about to leave, he turned to Snatcher and spoke once again:

-“Oh, I almost forgot!” he said, raising his eyebrows as he continued. “Your butler tasked me to tell you that dinner will be ready soon.”

Snatcher’s heart sank in his chest as he suddenly realized that having his legs healed meant that he would have to eat outside of his bedroom. In the dining room. With Vanessa.

This day was never going to end, was it?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ 

Sorry if this chapter was a little calm compared to the others, but it was needed for the story. The next chapter is going to be wild, don't worry :) I hope you still liked that chapter despite the lack of action !

As for when the next chapter will come out... It'll depend on the surprise, so if I'm not posting as fast as usual, please assume that I'm working on the fanfic in the meantime and/or on another AHIT fanfiction that I may or may not currently write. We'll see :)

And if you want to support me in the meantime, you can watch an ad on Utip. Thank you!

Please stay safe everyone !

=> Chapter 14

[latitudesunknown]

Tiny Haven Gazette #3

In which I drop the gazette format because it takes an ungodly amount of time and nobody cares. 🎉

My house gets a first floor, and coincidentally, my storage doubles, which is a relief. That should free me from spending 30mn every day desperately trying to figure out what to part with for at least a month.

So much space!

And now that it’s been upgraded, I get more customization options and can change the outside of my house!

¨🦄¨

By sheer dumb luck, I finally figure out how to get money trees!!!! I can’t believe it took me so long (although I’m very happy I never looked the answer up online). I should have known there was something up with the glowing golden hole that appeared whenever you dug up some money, that thing was clearly magic!

My pockets were full, so I had no choice but to bury back the money bag I’d just dug out, and this happened. Honestly considering how often I walk around with full pockets I’m astounded this didn’t happen sooner.

So now I have a little money tree orchard. Next experience: does the money tree give you MORE money if you plant a bigger money bag? Tried it this morning, will get an answer in a few days.

¨🦄¨

Raiiiiinbow!

That’s it. There’s no story to go with it, but it’s the first rainbow I’ve seen in the game!

¨🦄¨

I can’t stop thinking about that sweet little cow I saw on @astorytotellyourfriends​​ ‘s island last week, so I decide to build the last house in the hopes of finding her on an island and inviting her over. 

In the process, I realize I could have built myself a beach house all along.

Damnit!

To my horror, however, the very next morning, the house has been sold to a stranger!

Thankfully, my new neighbour, while not being Norma, is just as sweet.

I covet her living room SO BADLY. And also I kinda wanna eat her. Why would you design a rhinoceros to look like a cake?! She must get nightmares where people run after her, trying to bite off her strawberry horn.

¨🦄¨

Shortly after, and as a result of me ignoring him completely for a few days, Phebus FINALLY decides to leave the island.

I actually took a chance when I decided to talk to him, considering that’s the way he always looks.

“Good luck with the neighbours, their stories and their problems... you’re going to need a good dose of patience!”

That shouldn’t be a problem because, unlike you, I actually like people!

And because I like people, of course, joke’s on me, because I feel super sad to see him leave. 🙄

¨🦄¨

Following his departure, I start buying mystery island tickets like a crazy person, hoping to bump into Norma, but so far, no luck.

Why did I meet so many chickens?!

It’s the second day Phebus’s old house is on sale and I’m sure it’ll get sold to a random NPC any second now. The stress is intense!

¨🦄¨ 

I don’t know what’s up with them but everyone on the island keeps asking me if they should change their catchphrases! After the tenth time, I finally give in with Lili, assuming she’ll just come up with a new one on her own, but then am faced with a horrible screen that is asking ME to come up with something on the spot!

Have I mentioned how much I love it when she makes that face?

It took me ten minutes and some internet research to come up with this. This is too big of a responsibility!!

At least she was happy about it.

I’ve gone back to refusing to help the others, though. At least not until I can come up with proper catchphrases for them!

¨🦄¨

For the very first time, I get asked to play postman for my villagers. See, Nacer’s been bonding with Kali (no wonder, since they’re both jocks), but he was too shy to give him a present himself.

“Kali has helped me so much, I picked up a present for him. But I’m too shy to give it to him myself...”

Feeling like cupid, I hurry to Kali’s house. 👼🏹💘

“A frog costume! Oh la la!”

I have to admit that wasn’t the kind of gift I’d been expecting considering how much they both love sports, but ok!

“Did Kali say something about the gift?”

That was super cute, I hope I’ll get more requests like it!

¨🦄¨

In the span of one week I must have learnt about 20 new mimics, which, honestly, I find baffling. Most of them are just sliiiiight variations, it’s ridiculous. In the game I used to work on we ended up with about 50 expressions per character, but that was because they needed to express a wide range of emotions in very subtle ways. You don’t need that for cute island critters, especially when emoting is such a slow process in the first place!

¨🦄¨

Justine visits again one night, which gets everyone on the island talking.

“Since we have a visitor, I’ve baked some cakes. I hope she’ll like them...”

“I absolutely MUST tell her ‘hi’ before she leaves!”

“No, don’t mind me, you’ve got a visitor! Focus on being a good hostess!”

I like their reactions so much I spend more time speaking with my islanders than my visitors whenever I have one, haha.

Also, I love the smoke trails in the sky whenever a plane leaves. That small connection to a bigger world is very comforting.

¨🦄¨ 

Abraham, true to himself, is adorable.

“Good evening, sweets! Grum grom grom... My tummy also says good evening!”

🥰

Later we play to a little game with freakishly accurate results.

“Let’s play! Tell me your favourite color, and I will tell you what food you are.”

“You chose orange, which means you’re easy to live with, but you can also sometimes feel lonely.”

In the end, he said I was an onion. Layers, y’see.

¨🦄¨

I also finally figure out how to eavesdrop on people’s conversations, and get treated to many a story.

Lili : I just read my horoscope... You’re not gonna believe it! It’s sick!

Phebus : What am I supposed to not believe, exactly? The horoscope, or the fact that you managed to read it through? You know what, just tell me what it said, let’s get this over with.

Lili : Listen to this... “Your travels will bring good surprises.” Isn’t that sick?! Especially for me, because I love good surprises!

Phebus : Um... I guess? I mean, I don’t know. How did that make you sick? I’m confused.

Lili : Nah, just wait! After that, I went shopping, and it was the spring sales! Get that, I got a sweet little dress on sale! I was so happy I thought I was going to pass out!

Phebus : What?! Don’t kid with that! D’you need me to call for help?

Lili (totally ignoring him) : So anyway I put on my new dress and went for a walk. And that’s when it started raining big time, and I got drenched... Why didn’t my horoscope warn me about that?!

Phebus : I don’t know... have you tried reading the weather column instead?

¨🦄¨ 

I catch Vanessa and Maëlle talking about a movie they both watched... except they both remember it very differently...

Maëlle : Oh, Vanessa, thanks for lending me that movie, I loved it! The costumes were gorgeous... I want the leading lady’s straw hat!

Vanessa : And that chase in hydro planes! Pfiiiiiiiouuu, ppfffz, ka-BOUM! That was awesome sauce!

Maëlle : And that dress with golden trimmings that she wears at the picnic... that was fine art!

Vanessa : And what about the fight against the giant robot? When he punches a hole in the planet? Whazaam!

Maëlle : Yes! He really stole the scene with his diamond plates... It must have cost a fortune! ... ... Wait, did you say he punched a hole in a planet? Was that before or after the ball?

😂

¨🦄¨

Later, I find the same two talking about Maëlle’s insect infestation problem (probably caused by all the sweets she keeps in her house, just saying). When she asks me what I would do, I tell her I’d just move out, which gets me a VERY judgmental look from Vanessa.

“How do you manage to get rid of them?”

Vanessa’s solution, in the end, is for Maëlle to sell her house to “an insect-loving weirdo”. I wish I knew if that was a dig at Abraham or if it’s just a coincidence.

“Bah, that can’t be impossible. You just need a real weirdo who thinks insects aren’t so bad!”

¨🦄¨

Lili and Raymond get into a big argument about Lili’s cooking skills...

Raymond : By the way, Lili, I haven’t thanked you for lunch the other day! It was very good!

Lili : “Very good”? Seriously, don’t you have something even more corny? Nobody says that anymore! Don’t you mean it was delicious? Or maybe extremely refined? Or maybe super exquisite?

Raymond : Oh! You’re right, I’m sorry. Um, it was... delectable... succulent... A concentrate of sheer deliciousness!

Lili : And?

Raymond : And... every bite sent my taste buds into a transcendental ecstasy?

Lili : Oh! Is that a question or a statement, Raymond?

Raymond : A statement, of course! Pff... All that to describe a stupid sole meunière...

Lili : Don’t tell me you’ve just called my sole meunière, my mother’s own recipe!, “stupid”?!

I’m still amazed that they parted in good terms, I thought for sure Lili would keep on fuming

¨🦄¨

After trying to get my first residents to spruce up their apartments, with mitigating results...

I mean, the ball, jars and punching sack are all gifts of mine, so that’s cool he’s got them all out at the same time, but that’s still a sad little barren house.

I finally look it up online and discover their houses are actually not supposed to be like this at all! Turns out poor Nacer, Vanessa, Abraham, Renée and Lili are all stuck with generic houses because they got to my island too soon!

This is what Renée’s house should look like! 

So I’ve decided to try and gift them all their true houses’ furniture, little by little. I know they can’t change their wallpapers or floors, but hopefully if I get them the right couches, beds, etc, they’ll display them all. 🤞

[riverteatime]

A burning soul (MC, Snatcher, Vanessa fic)

“Warning : Mention of blood, pain, torture, violence, hurting feelings of love, painful past, a very angry noodle and an ice bi*ch. I warned you !

“Snowing ?! At this state of year ?! But we are not even in winter !” You thought at watching the news in your TV

It’s the evening and like every days you have regain your spaceship after passing a day on the planet. It’s the autumn so you are not very surprised that temperature are more and more colder. But at the point of snowing…Yes you are very happy to see the snow but the air of this part of the planet is much hoter than in the Arctic.

“Perhaps it is the consequence of climate change. I mean that maybe that temperature raise in this planet too. I hope that this planet is not going to change as a big desert” You say sarcastically to yourself. But that thought brings back painful memories about your past. You shake your head to not think about that and you switch off your TV to sleep on your bed.

—————————————————————

Meanwhile in a certain ice castle…

“WHAT? SHE AGAIN PASS THE DAY WITH MY PRINCE?” Yells a feminine voice in the shadow

Even if the ice statues are headless, they don’t like how their queen scream. Even if they can’t see her head they can feel her expression. The expression of surprise, anger, rage and disgust. And they know what is the cause. This human-alien who land on their planet some months ago had build a very strong relationship with what would have become their king if this accident did not arrive. Now that this person is very close to her prince, the queen is so jalous. She hate her, she want to murder her.

“But maybe if we make her disappear, MY prince will be mine.” She says thinking “Headless statues, I know your power of destruction is explosive like a dynamite. But pay attention to my words! It’s clear that you are not lights but we are talking of queens and even you can think about this. So prepared of the chance of your life, be prepared sensational news !!! A shining new path open in front of us…

“…And what we have to do…?” Asks one of the statues

“Just don’t cut your queen. I know it sound morbid but you’ll be rewarded and become my minions! Do what I tell ! BE PREPARED !!!”

“S-sorry to cut your speech majesty, b-but they love each oth-” Starts an headless statue. But with a movement the icy-queen destroyed him.

“Fool! I know that” Says the queen with a disgusting voice “But she is not immortal like us. My statue, today is the day that start our freedom ! Stick with me and you’ll never going to be banish again of this kingdom!” And with this fact the headlesses statues jump of happiness and say “Long life the queen!” in harmony. 

“But at one condition. Capture this human alive, BUT NOT DEAD !!! I deserve her a nice treatment for her. She will remember my face even in the death. No one take the prince of the queen Vanessa” Says the icy-queen before laughing cruelly.

——————————————–

You wake up earlier today. You thought that it would be nice to see Subcon Forest covered up by the snow. So you dress up warmly because you don’t want to catch a cold like the other day. And you set you teleport destination to Subcon Forest.

Arrived at Subcon Forest you feel something different in the atmosphere. Subcon is always a quiet place good for the rest of the dead people that are buried in all the forest. But it is too quiet. Normally some minions are walking through the forest and spirits are flying. But you see none of them. And the snow start to be a snowstorm. You decide to go in the house of Snatcher to protect yourself.

In front of the house you knock at the hardwood which serves as a wall. 

“Snatcher?” You ask, waiting for an answer. “And you are not there. Geez, what’s happen here?” You ask yourself while you enter the house. Your friend is not there and his minions are not guarding the forest. “Maybe he is at the village or with Moon.” You think.

So you go outside. The snowstorm calmed down but you cannot see very well because of the cold. You walk in direction of the village despite of the road that is cover by the snow.

But before you can arrive at the village you see something at your right… or seemed to have seen something. Indeed with the snow that covered the ground and trees, it’s difficult to recognize something. But you are certain that you have seen a shadow. 

“Snatcher? Is that you?” You ask immediatly. But no one answer. 

“Come on! I know it’s you! And it’s not Halloween so you have not reason to scare me!”

No answer

“Don’t be stupid with me! I’m here since five months and I know you!”

No answer. Just silence and the wind.

“Snatcher?” You say, starting to shaking. You start to walk on the direction of where you seem to have seen your friend. But you see what it is and it’s not your friend. Instead of, you see something else. Two humanoid creature are in front of you but they seem to not have seen you. Your reaction is to hind behind a tree and to watch what they do. Wait?…. Is that a Subconite laying on the ground ? 

“What we have to do with this living soul?” Asks one of the humanoid to the other

“Bring him back to the queen and find others insurgents. And if you see the human catch her” Says the other

The humanoids monsters go on opposite direction. When you certain that they are far enough, you get out of our hiding place. What was these things? And why one of them as a Subconite. Suddenly you have a revelation. Perhaps they are ennemies of the Subcon Forest and they bring a Subconite for torturing him !!! You yell but you think that if they hear you they can make the same thing to you. You have to find Snatcher and quickly. But you can’t let this poor Subconite with us. And don’t know where THE HELL is Snatcher. 

So you make the choice to follow the humanoid who have the unconsious minion. You follow him, paying attention that you don’t make ANY noise. You hide sometimes behind the trees when the humanoid turns around. Fortunaly, you were the one the most quiet in your colony when you hunted for surviving in your former planet.

After following the humanoid thing for what you seem an hour, you arrived at a big old mansion covered by ice. Here, the snow is more heavier, like a snowstorm. But you keep your goal. When the forest end to an cleairing you think that is safest to wait behind a tree. The humanoid go inside the house and you follow him.

—————————————

You slowly open the door. You watch if they have no danger and you go inside. You walk carefully in the woody-corridor. Painting are hanging on the wall and a elegant red carpet is on the floor. The one who live here have a wonderful taste for luxury objects. You watch from the opening doors if there have the minion. 

Suddenly you hear some noise at the first floor. You go upstrairs, walking slowly and carefully and hid at one of room. It is a nice bedroom with a big bed and others furnitures that can make think of a room for a woman. A diary is on one of the tables. You open it at the middle and start to read.

     “Why? What have done wrong? In his letter he talks about her. A ‘tutor’

      He say he loves me. But SHE see him. I get letters and SHE get his time

      He is MINE. Once his studies are finished I will have him back”

“What the hell?” You ask to yourself 

The other pages talk about a “princess” that wait for his prince. But at what it is write you think that the princess is like possessive with her prince. You think instantly at a bad fairy tale. 

You hear again some noises but now closer. You watch where you can hide. A wardrobe is your choice and fortunally it is empty so you can go inside. Two humanoids enter the room. They are like earlier but you can see a detail that you don’t pay attention before. They are both headless. One of them try to immobilize a Subconite. And you cannot let the minion fight two headless things. 

So you jump of your hidding spot. Earlier you saw two spears hanging on the wall. Even if it is a decoration you grab one of them. And even if you haven’t fight for years with a spear you try to hurt the headless. Key word is try. Indeed, they are like stone statues or ice… Ice headless statues. Even you don’t hurt them you succeed of to draw the attention and the Subconite is now free.

“FLEE!” You yell at him. With reluctance the minion ran away.

You fight with your spear and you paying attention to the door of the other room which is open. An idea come to your mind. With your spear you protect yourself and at the ideal moment you give at one of the headless a violent kick. The headless fall with his companion behind him and you shut the door. You move the wardrobe in front of the door. You succeed of trapping the headless on another room.

“Headless! It’s more brainless!” You tell

“Indeed. I’m agree with you” Says a feminine voice behind you.

“Oh NO!” You think. You turn around to be face to a shadow. “Oh peck” You say.

“I am very surprise that you come here without hurting you! But you cannot stay here safe, MC” Says the shadow

“What the f-… You know my name?” You ask holding your spear and ready to fight.

“I know you. And you know me.” And before you can say no she tells “I’m HER”.

“HER? … Wait you are the rival of Snatcher it’s right” You ask. But behind you the headless are breaking the door. You are surround by enemies now.

“Yes and no. I’m his … Killer? It is like that you call this type of person?” You think at something. She as a crown in her head. She is the “princess” of the book? Right?

“You are a princess?” You ask, keeping her in front of you. 

“I was a princess. Your shadow friend was my prince” At this though you gasp “We were happy before he let me here for his studies. I waited him for years. For so long years-” She grabs a glass and and throw it at you. You protect yourself but you feel cold on your hands. Your spear start to be heavier and turn to a ice spear. You drop it. Now you are in front of a wall and you are ready for fleeing. 

“When he comes back I was so happy… But. I saw him. He was with a girl. He was holding HER hands. I ran away.” She walks at your direction. “When he go to my castle he try to convince me but I ordered my guard to bring him to the jail” She is now in front of you. You shake like a leaf for the fear and for the cold. Indeed, even if you have warm clothes, you are cold.

Suddenly she grabs you to the neck, strangle you with so much power. “You are a beautiful lady. Perhaps on another life we will be friends but. I . AM . THE . ONLY . QUEEN . HERE .”She yells at you. You try to breathe but you can’t.

Suddenly a big blue fireball breaks the window, making melt one of the living statue. Surprised, the queen throws you. Strings that come to the door fly to the other statue, wrap the headless like a cocoon. The headless break up with a detonation noise. 

You are lying on the floor and try to stand up. Two hand that you know grab you and help you to stand up. You raise your head to be face to Moonjumper.

“Moon…” You say with no voice. The corpse ran away in the house with you in one off his arm. “What you do?” You ask now with your voice. 

“I keeping you safe” He says quietly.

But you don’t think the same way. You succeed of being free. You run to the bedroom, grabing the other spear that is laying on the floor. You think at one thing : help Snatcher with this demon. Moonjumper try to grab you but he lost track of you. 

When you enter the room you look at ruins. The bedroom is totally destroyed. The bed is now laying on the floor with the ice shards of the headless statues. Wood furnitures are now burn and the two shadows are looking to the other like deadly carnivorous animals.

“My prince~~~!” Says Vanessa

“Don’t approach me !!!” Says Snatcher, hissing like a dangerous snake

But the two are tired and you can fell it. Vanessa run in the direction of Snatcher with her clawed hands. You know that he cannot dodge this. So you go in front of him making a shield with your body.

“MC !!!” He yells but too late

You fall on your knees. You let your spear fall. You touch your stomach. A warm red liquid sink of your clothes. Blood, she have hurt you. 

Snatcher looks at you, then look at Vanessa “What did you do?” He asks to her “You. Have. Hurting. My. Wife” he says before jump on her, making everything to kill her. 

“My prince! Stop this! I have to kill her for you!” She yells at him trying to breack free. And she succeed. She ran to one of the wall. “I am your wife! Your queen! But if you don’t hear me so die for a second time!” She yells at him

“NO!” You scream. And with a invisible power you stand up. Your spear that was ice is now make of fire. Like a zombie you walk to the dead queen. “NO ONE KILL MY HUSBAND” You say with a shaking voice. You turn to yourself, hurting her so badly. You kicking her with your spear, backing her to the bathroom. When she is in front of the door, Snatcher opens it and you kick her to the room. Then Snatcher closes it more violently than you with the headless. He locks the door with some incantation. When the fight is done Snatcher breath heavenly.

“God!” He whisper. “What a day.”

But your invisible power that keep you stand up leave your body and you fall again on your knees.

“What?! MC STAY WITH ME!!!” He yells and grabing you in his arm. You touch again your bloody stomach and now you can feel the pain. Moonjumper who was in some part of the manor finds you and your friend.

Then you don’t remember the rest of the day. You fall unconscious but your eyes are opening. You watch with no reaction your friend carry you to the house.

————————————-

You slowly return to the consciousness. You are laying on a cushion. And you can see Snatcher reading a book. 

“Snatcher…” You slowly whisper

Like an electro-shock Snatcher jump of his chair and float to you very quickly.

“MC? MC YOU CAN SEE ME?” He asks very conscerned by you. He grabs you but your stomach is hurting.

“Ouch! You silly! I can see you!” You yell at him.

“Oh excuse me! You were unconcious before. Don’t make such things again.” He tells to you

“Such things like what?” You ask slowly trying to sit on your cushion.

“Such things like become a super fighter and be a shield-body with no warning.” He says frowing at you.

“What your are saying?” Then you remember what you done earlier. The Subconite kidnapping, the headless, Vanessa and the fight, it was not a dream.

“I am very impressed by you of your surviving but the next time don’t go to the danger” He says.

“But it was for keeping you safe…” You start.

“ENOUGH” He yells.

“But…” You try.

“DON’T” He lays you on his body.

“But…” You whisper.

“TALK” He grabs his book to continue his reading

“Umf…” You whisper grabing his fluff

On Snatcher’s book it is writing :

 “Fire souls

  A very rare soul that can survive of the spell of the ice soul. A strong fire soul      can destroy an ice soul with one shot. A very rare portion of the people who       have a fire soul can become strong fighters near the death. But, causing of   the immense power that is require for this, the people who have become the       fighter become unconscious after this fact. It is primordial of a fire soul people     to regain strengh after such a fight.”

[staliasjeronica]

Riverdale 3.12 Thoughts *Spoilers*

- YAS TOM AND SIERRA ❤️❤️❤️ Also Josie and Kevin are sibling excellence

- Ew Moose’s dad. “I’ll check my calendar, Sierra” that bitch is so not doing it lmaoooo

- Choni. this is the greatest scene bye. Oh right I forgot about the SAT’s bc they didn’t go.

- TONI’S SCORE WAS FLAWLESS?! OMFG

- Veggie ❤️❤️ I hate how after all of Veronica’s attempts she’s STILL being sucked into the fucking criminal life!

- Mevin. Wow. They’re fucking going AT IT and I am actually kinda here for it? Like??? FUCK.

- “Told you they ere in here, sir.” what a fucking tattle tale bitch

- SWOSIE. OH YM GOD GTHEY’VE HAD FLINGS. HIS SMILE. I’M FUCKING— HE FUCKING LIKES HER I’M—AW SWEET PEA “I’m not built that way, maybe that makes me needy” BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH HE IS SUCH A FUCKING SOFTIE I’M SO—HE DESERVES SO MUCH I’M SO!!! UNFOLLOW ME RIGHT NOW THIS IS ALL I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT FOR THE NEXT YEAR (Also did we just see his fucking trailer? Because I need to see more of it please and thanks. Also please tell me he has a sweet grandmother named Lily because then my fanfic will come to life and I will legit burst into tears)

- Wow Penelope is really trying to stop Cheryl from going to school huh

- MCKELLER AHHHHHHHHHHHHH HOW CUTEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE LOVE THEM SO MUCHHHHH. Ugh this ascension night and gargoyle king shit is so annoying

- CHERYL AND KEVIN FRIENDSHIP LET’S FINALLY HAVE WHAT WE DESERVE!!! Wait I thought all of the mains know about Mevin lmao this is why we need basically every episode like this. LOL Bumble is the Grindr of Riverdale. KEVIN MOOSE NOT COMING OUT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU BBY. Oh no don’t nudge him to come out don’t force him that’s so bad!

- CHERYL OFFICIALLY CALLED HERSELF A LESBIAN BITCHHHHHH AND TONI LISTENING SO CUTELY. Oh no… she basically just outed Moose is this why her and Toni fight??? /.\ I feel so bad for Moose thought they’re like backing him into a corner!!!

- “THAT’S WHY THE SERPENTS WERE SO IMPORTANT TO ME, THEY WERE LIKE MY NON-JUDGEMENTAL FAMILY” OH I HATE THIS SO MUCH BUT I LIKE THE ANGST. CHERYL BEING SO SOFT AND TONI BEING SO FIERCE AGAIN YES

- JOSIE IS CRYING POOR BBY but also ARCHOSIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA ASK SP TO DRIVE HER BITCH I’M SOFT! I’m glad they’re not making him out to be an asshole though I love that for my baby Sweet Pea

- Reggie calling Veronica Ronnie ❤️❤️❤️ “Is robbing banks still a thing?” Reggie lmao ONE OF MY IDEAS SORT OF COMING TO LIFE I’M—VEGGIE BEING SO CUTE I LOVE IT

- This has nothing to do with McKeller, Penelope but okay. You’re sounding like you know something… lmao if you need Hiram you’re probably fucked. And also EW MARTY MANTLE GO SUCK A BIG FUCKING TOE

- Josie is such a cutie! And this is the first time we’ve ever seen her nervous! But I imagine what it’d be like if SP drove her like he’d be so enamored with her

- REGGIE GOT SHOT. I saw this in the promos but STILL

- So no one can hear the camera going off like??? “We know how to dominate, too” BITCH CHERYL—

- I’m sorry our queen Josie didn’t get it? Mmhm sounds fake but okay… but is this how they’re setting up for Josie’s spin off? “And I’m alone” BITCH NO YOU’RE NOT MY POOR CHILD!!! I really like how Archosie is being there for each other and we get to see emotional Josie

- Really Reggie’s dad had a dye pack? Nah this bitch is definitely doing illegal shit and the car dealership is a front. OMG IF THAT’S TRUE MY FUCKING STORY UNHOLY—PLEASE I NEED THIS RIVERDALE.

- OMG MOOSE ACTUALLY DID IT? HE LOOKS SO CUTE AND HAPPY… BUT THEN WHY THE FUCK DOES HIS DAD DRAG HIM TO SOQM? If it’s a part of the fucking game… AND OMG MAYBE I AM FUCKING STARTING TO SHIP MEVIN? I’M SO SORRY JOAQUIN. 

- CHERYL HELPING TONI TO GET INTO THE SCHOOL I’M—

- THE BUYER IS GLADYS ARE YOU KIDDING. OMG SHE DOESN’T KNOW THAT THAT’S HER SON’S FUTURE WIFE LMAO oh she does know Veronica

- Why did they have to make Gladys deal drugs like it would be a bit more interesting to see her be the “Good” parent

- CHERYL APOLOGIZING TO MOOSE AWWWW why is Moose suddenly so attractive??? BUT HE’S OPENING UP TO CHERYL HOW CUTE. LMAO “I’d bring new sheets, a lot of people have had sex on that cot” oh no isn’t that where Mevin gets interrupted

- You’re trusting Penelope… with cyanide antidote? Mmhm… ugh Hiram…

- So how tf does Moose’s bitch ass father find out about the bunker???

- Oh of course it’s Penelope who finds the thing. HOW FUCKING COINCIDENTAL.

- BITCH VEGGIE IS SO HOT. Charmila is making a show. And thank GOD Bughead stopped but also why is everyone deciding to fuck at the same time? That’s weird

- Bughead actually stopping to answer their phones? Unrealistic

- CHONI’S ALMSOT SEX SCENE AND IT’S INTERRUPTED ARE YOU KIDDING

- Poor Moose like he finally is able to be with the guy he likes (I know I’ve said it didn’t seem like he was into him but to be fair we never really saw Kevin together okay? Okay. I am repenting until Joaquin is suddenly alive and Joavin can rise again lmao) and him and Kevin are fucking dragged away by the gargoyle gang.

- AW KEVIN. omg yes BITCH!!!!

- Really… Moose’s father? Are you serious? But if he ends up dragging Moose to SOQM why the FUCK is he let go after this? MOOSE’S DAD LIKED GUYS TOO WHAT ohhh nvm that was Moose playing the younger version of his father

- JELLYBEAN!!!!!! But FP’s scared look when Gladys says they’re going to be staying awhile because he’s getting with Alice lmao Falice will totally survive in the end because him and Jug will find out why they’re really there and then he’ll realize he really loves Alice. We love Falice!

- And what I was going to say was that we’re probably going to meet the gk as the gk but think that it’ll be just another fucking rip off bc it’ll be a side character no one ever sees.

- Jughead is so happy to see his mom and realizing that when he finds out, and ultimately finds out that V knows about the drug thing, he’s going to be an unnecessary asshole to her leaves a bad taste in my mouth. At least it won’t be fueled by Betty’s dislike of her but STILL LET JERONICA BE A THING

- I’M SORRY… WE DIDN’T GET TO SEE MCKELLER GET MARRIED?!

- ARCHOSIE SINGING TOGETHER YES PLEASE! Is it bad that I lowkey want a scene where SP walks in to Archosie flirting and shit and gets all sad and meets up with Fangs

- MOOSE IS MOVING TO GLENDALE. “I’m gonna miss you Marmaduke” “I’ll miss you Kevin Keller” THE SECOND YOU MAKE MOOSE LIKABLE AND YOU FUCKING SEND HIM AWAY!!! Also why do all of Kevin’s boyfriends move away to towns nearby

- OMG CHERYL GAVE TONI ANOTHER GANG!! THE PRETTY POISONS OMG FUCK ME UP. IS THE TATTOO GOING TO BE THAT WOLF TATTOO WE SAW VANESSA SHOW OFF

- Honestly i’d be more surprised if Gladys and Jellybean weren’t coming back into Jughead and FP’s lives again just to fuck it up smh

- Archie asking to kiss her BITCH WE LOVE CONSENT. CONSENT IS SEXY. FUCK ME UP. YES.

- THIS EPISODE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AND NOW I’M SAD BECAUSE NEXT WEEK WE’LL BE BACK TO HAVING BUGHEAD SHOVED DOWN OUR THROATS UGH

[classic-return]

Too Much To Loses

((Darsa))

I’ve been scruffed a bit when I was a kid. Some of the monks would pick me up by my shirt and get me to somewhere I could run around and not knock over ink pots. Since I got over six feet in height, no one has really done that until now. As I’m being thrown into a room, I know I’ve been traveling for a little bit. Late at night someone broke into my ‘house’, it’s really a poor excuse of a rented room, but, whatever, they broke into my fucking place and picked me up. It’s been about an hour and they threw me into a small farm our inside of Elwynn Forest.

Just outside I can see the bright green trees, whatever reason I’ve been brought out this way, it didn’t stay for a mystery long. Looking up I see some boots that lead to pants, that lead to a belt, that lead to a vest, that lead finally to a red scarf. Fuck me side-ways. I know this fucker. I know him because he’s the big ol’ cunt who used to work in Stormwind when everyone was rebuilding it.

Edwin Fucking VanCleef. 

“Get up.” He said offering a gloved hand for him to help me up. Near by is a small table with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Once I’m up on my feel VanCleef poured me a glass of water and offered it out. “Sorry my men were so rough. You’ve been dodging me.”

Course I’ve been dodging him. I know exactly who the Defias are and I know that’s a path to get you chucked off to prison. Enough of VanCleef’s men are pulled into Stormwind, I see them get marched over to the Stockades and aren’t even put on trial. It’s that kind of shit that pisses me off. I know the shit the nobles of Stormwind have pulled, and now I see the normal folk suffering for them too.

“Well I’ve been kinda busy.” I admitted as I took the glass and sniffed it to make sure it was alright.

VanCleef drank deeply from his and watched me, as if expecting me to be paranoid. The water tasted fine so I drank as he continued. “You’ve been dodging me. Ape told some of my men you’ve been doubling up your work.”

“Since my kid sis got shipped off to the other side of the world, haven’t been feeling, all of this.” I said nodding to the near by red scarfed men. “Nobles are shits, but, there’s other shite I have to work through first.”

“If you need money we can pay you. You have a good head on your shoulders, you’re also one of the people who has been directly hurt by nobles. I remember how they treated you when you were younger. No one wanted to adopt you, noble strung you along until they could give you back? The nobles told you you weren’t able to stay with the monks you were left with?” VanCleef reached out and tapped my shoulder roughly. “You know what it’s like to be throw away.”

Fuck he knows how to preach to me. Everything he said was true, but there’s something new. “I got people now. Marie, she don’t got anyone with her kid gone. If I’m getting into all of this, I might get exiled from Stormwind, like you. How could I keep her safe with something like that?”

There’s more to life than bringing down the nobility. I know Edwin’s heart is in the right place. After all, he’s been hurt as bad as I have. Labeled as a criminal just so he could get fair pay from those silk incrusted tarts in town. It’s a crime, it is, and he’s making the best of the shit that’s been going down. I’m just not sure I can throw myself into such a cause.

Say what you want about VanCleef, there’s one thing people forget, he cares about his men. He wouldn’t be doing this shit if he didn’t. So he raised up his glass and nodded. “Sometimes we have to protect our family the best way we can. I could always use you among the ranks Darsa. But, you take care of your family. There’s no bad blood between us.”

“You promise?” I asked feeling wary about that. Other gangs have said the same thing, just all of them were talking out of their ass so they could get what they really wanted. But, VanCleef hasn’t lied to me yet. I’ve seen the proof of his anger, and I don’t doubt it for a moment.

Holding out his hand to be he nodded. “You have my word on it. If you ever want to come back, I’ll tell my men to let you in with open arms. But you and yours, I would protect you if you let me.”

Fuck this guy knows how to sell his shit. But I have to stand my ground. I’ve got too much to risk to throw myself into his gang. But I shake his hand anyway, making this a proper deal. “I’ll remember that mate. If I ever hear shite in Stormwind that your guys need to know, I’ll send it your way.”

“Papa.” I heard a little voice from the doorway and stop. The girl is a spitting image of her father. Black hair, bright eyes, she slides into the room with as much stealth as she’s probably picked up around all the rogues in her life. “You said you were going to help me make lunch.”

Letting go of my hand VanCleef turns to his daughter and squatted down so he was eye level. “I did didn’t I?” He said his voice lighter around her. The guy chose to fight a fucking war against the nobles, but his daughter is the true weak spot he has. “Go head to the kitchen, I’m just finishing a talk with Mr. Noman.”

Vanessa, the little girl who looks too much like her father looks up at me and gives me a suspicious look. “Are you angry with Daddy?”

“No Miss, just doing some catching up.” I said quickly but smiling so she doesn’t catch on. “You have fun cooking with your Da.”

That quelled her questions for now, as she backed away I waited till she was out of sight before keeping my tone neutral. Who knows if she’s still listening in. And kids have to stay kids for as long as possible. “Mind having you guys give me a lift back to town, and maybe fix the locks on my doors?”

“They can give you a ride to town.” But then he grinned at me. “You have shit locks on your door anyway. Shouldn’t be surprised with you being Gilnean,”

“Oi.” I said but wasn’t angry. It was a normal reminder I had. I’m not like the Stormwind folks, it’s noticeable in my complexion and my accent. Still I grin and shrugged. “Fine. You keep everyone on their toes mate.”

Before I turned I heard him say something, but for the rest of my life I’ll be wondering what it was. It was probably a quip to balance my own sass, but it’s not like I’ll be asking him for a good long while.

[fiftyshadesofsleigh]

The Convenient Groom

Starring: Vanessa Marcil (General Hospital, NYPD Blue, Beverly Hills 90210, Las Vegas, The Rock, the list goes on and on) as Dr. Kate Lawrence and David Sutcliffe (Gilmore Girls, Private Practice) as Lucas “Mr” Wright.

Street Cred: Vanessa Marcil is a Goddess (Brenda and Jagger from GH were my teen OTP) and has had a long career of doing shit well, including a few movies in this genre, and as much as I hated Christopher on Gilmore Girls, David Sutcliffe is a solid actor with a great resume. I leave my little black heart in their hands. 10/10.

Official Synopsis: A young celebrity marriage counselor discovers herself left at the altar of her own highly-publicized wedding. To save face, she accepts an offer from her contractor, who secretly has a crush on her, to step in as groom and marry her.

What Really Happens: Okay, there is a lot wrong with this synopsis. First, Kate isn’t a marriage counselor, she’s a relationship blogger who introduces herself as “Dr. Kate Lawrence, Ph.D.” in every segment, which is fucking weird. Second, she’s not left at the altar, she’s left at the set of one of her videos, right before she can announce her engagement and introduce her fiance, Bryan. Third, Lucas isn’t a contractor, he makes custom wood furniture. Very different. He’s also known Kate most of her life and they kind of almost dated in high school. 

I should start off by saying this movie has terrible reviews, most of which take issue with Marcil not being the usual cookie-cutter Hallmark girl they’re used to. If you’ve seen her act before, you know she’s good, but her work usually has a touch of standoffishness and (gasp!) layers. It’s also noted that Marcil and Sutcliffe have zero chemistry which I think can be explained by the feeling that there are scenes missing from this film. Every time we get to what would normally be a ‘bonding’ scene for the leads, it cuts away to either right after the bonding or the next day. It’s weird.

Anyway, Kate is a celebrity in a tiny demographic (Seattle-ish) who gives super hetero-normative dating advice and believes a successful relationship should have no conflict. We find out later this is because her parents fought a lot and got divorced, leaving them bitter and angry. (Insert eye roll gif here). We never find out how unreliable a narrator Kate is because (surprise!) her parents are dead. 

Kate’s agent is in the middle of securing a publishing contract for her and insists they make the engagement announcement a spectacle, even though Bryan really, really doesn’t want that. Lucas shows up just in time to hear Bryan break up with Kate moments before the big, live brouhaha. Bryan admits there is another woman and Kate now has to break it to her “public”. She freezes on camera and Lucas steps in, declaring himself her fiance.

Kate’s agent is all on board for the fib (He’s literally Mr. Wright!!!), but Kate is less sure, especially since she thinks Lucas is trying to make up for being an ass to her on their one date in high school. She’s pretty happy holding onto her feelings about it. It’s a theme. This is when we get the amazing scene with Kate and Lucas slow dancing while extras bounce around in the background like they’re in a Ke$ha video.

The agent books them into the fancy hotel the shoot is at, apparently not bothered in the least that they’re planning to lie to several businesses in this small town, as they plan a fake wedding. “That’s what cancellation policies are for,” right? She assigns them a cameraman and instructs them to make like they’re in love, which they absolutely do not do. Maybe this is why people gave it bad reviews because Kate is super not into pretending to be engaged to someone she barely likes and Lucas is just a super chill guy who doesn’t want to piss her off. Plus, she just got dumped. Layers. 

While cake tasting with their wedding planner, a wonderfully deadpan woman named Phyllis, strawberries and champagne are delivered. A romantic gift from Bryan from the before time, in the long, long ago. Kate is understandably upset and calls him, asking him to cancel anything else he ordered and to not tell anyone about the breakup so she can salvage her career, oh and also, fuck off for having your side piece answer your phone like, an hour after the breakup.

The new faux-couple are forced into more wedding/date shit, share some feelings and truths, then Lucas invites Kate to dinner with his parents, who have one of those 100-steps-down-a-cliff houses on the beach. There’s a throwaway line about having “a trust fund and a contractor” and hahaha, isn’t life grand when you’re wealthy and white? Lucas’ mother is not impressed with the situation and she makes good points, especially when we find out Lucas moved back home from being a broker in New York when his fiance died. Did he mention he went to Princeton? That’s why he can afford to make furniture now. He even lives right next to his parents in what I’m pretty sure is their bungalow or guest house or some rich shit like that. It’s called living in the moment, poor people!

There’s another cute scene where they run into each other one evening and Lucas orders a super long, super specific coffee to make fun of some of Kate’s bogus relationship advice, and Kate laughs along because she’s learning not to take herself so seriously. It’s growth. Like a tree. Kate is basically Groot at this point. When she gets home, Kate learns that her neighbourhood has no water or power and it’s Lucas to the rescue! They quickly learn they’re opposites in a lot of ways, but (shock!) it works for them! (At least until Lucas discovers Kate put a hot curling iron on his handmade table and then he’s bound to kick her to the curb.)

She burns dinner for his family (who love her now, btw) and there is much laughing, and inside joking, and tra-la-la-la-la! Kate gets her book deal, but instead of announcing a fake break up, Lucas talks her into keeping it going since it’s only another week. Kate spends her nights re-watching footage of the two of them being perfect for each other so she doesn’t put up much of a fight.

Lucas takes her on his parent’s boat (a 40-foot sailboat because wealth), which she’s terrified of because she gets seasick. This is where a scene seems to be missing as it goes from him promising she’ll be fine and pulling on ropes to him helping a green Kate through his front door. I’m guessing the budget or the insurance didn’t cover taking the boat out. Lucas makes her some tea, watches her sleep, then they almost kiss, but Bryan shows up (gasp!) and begs Kate to take him back. But Kate has learned things, like people are allowed to disagree with each other, terrible boyfriends make terrible husbands, oh, and remember how Bryan cheated on her? Yeah, she’s not taking him back. Bryan has a little snit and leaves, but all is not well because Kate leaves too, telling Lucas they need some time apart and that she needs to tell the truth, to herself and everyone else.

Lucas’ family is all “You’re in love with her, idiot, go get her”, but he’s unsure because he’s actually a decent guy and doesn’t want to force himself on her. His sister runs to Kate’s house to plead Lucas’ case and gets there just in time for Kate’s live truth reveal to be usurped by Bryan’s side piece posting a video, spilling the beans on the breakup and Kate’s lying. 

When Lucas shows up to declare his undying love for Kate, she reverts to her old self and basically tells him it’s Stockholm Syndrome and then they argue. Kate wallows in the loss of Lucas, lying in her own (movie-pretty) filth and obsessively watching every video on her blog of the two of them together. Lucas’ mother appears to check on Kate on what would have been their fake wedding day and pretty much laughs in her face when Kate tells her people in good relationships don’t fight. 

Lucas makes a public plea for people to stop hating on Kate because it was all his idea and he did it because he loves her and has since high school. I will go ahead and spoil the ending here, so stop reading if you don’t want to know. Kate finds Lucas, admits she loves him too, Lucas proposes, and they get married. That day. I’m serious. 

Teacup’s Tidbits: I really think 90% of the issues people have with this one is the scene and script editing. The story is solid, but a little watered down. The other 10% is not seeing how great Vanessa Marcil is just because she’s not Candace Cameron Bure or whats-her-face from Party of Five.

How I Would Fix This With Fic: Not gonna lie, this would work really well as a Sherlock fic. Not sure which would be the blogger and which would be the faux-fiance, but I’d read the shit out of that.

Fics Like This: Love Song by ThePathLessTrekked (Star Trek: Alternate Original Series, Kirk/McCoy), A Lifetime of Laughter by the_problem_with_stardust (Teen Wolf, Sterek), While You Were Sleeping by thisisntreallymeimnotreallyhere (Supernatural, Destiel)

[ranwing]

Rent Live on Fox: A Review

Many of my followers and readers of my stories know that I’m something of a musical theater buff, and I hold a lot of affection for the show “Rent”. This was a musical about my generation - the one coming of age in the era of AIDS. Where the east Village was gritty and filled with creative artistic types (before it was taken over by chain stores and rents - no pun intended - skyrocketed). When I was of an age with the characters, there was something intriguing and romantic about living for art and not worrying about what the next day might bring. So needless to say, the prospect of seeing Rent performed again was going to be a nice trip down memory lane.

Like all live productions, there were good things, bad elements and things that made me wonder what the production team was thinking about. To start off with, I’m not worried about the fact that the show did not air “live” due to the injury of one of the lead actors. In fact, I would have preferred better, smarter editing because I had some serious issues with the staging. But more on that in a bit.

Casting: For the most part, I found the casting of the show... adequate. There were a few performers that really blew me away but mostly I was struck at how generic most of the players were. I’m a firm believer that musical shows like this are best served with musical theater actors who can balance singing and acting. Too often, performers are chosen by name recognition and the show suffers as a result. Rent was no different.

First, there were some really outstanding performers. I adored Tinashe, who brought the right balance of sultriness and vulnerability that I want to see in Mimi. Her rendition of Take Me Out was amazing and she managed to overcome the annoying frenetic camera angles (more on that later). Another standout was  Kiersey Clemons as Joanne, who was able to bring appropriate gravitas to the “straight” woman of the Joanne/Maureen pairing. Brandon Victor Dixon’s experience as a Broadway actor showed and he gave Tom Collins depth and charm.

And I was really delighted to see  Keala Settle as the leader of the Life Support meeting. She’s always a joy to watch. Most of the background performers were excellent and I think that the show did a good job filling out the supporting cast with talented singers and actors.

Of the other leads, I was less in love. Vanessa Hudgens had some enjoyable moments as Maureen, but I sometimes found her too frenetic and superficial. There were times when she was grinning that just felt... off. Brennin Hunt looked the part of Roger, but his vocals sounded thin at times. And while I think that  Jordan Fisher is exceptionally talented, I feel that he was miscast as Mark. I understand that the show did want to have as diverse a cast as possible, but he was a poor fit for a geeky Jewish boy from Scarsdale. Valentina had moments where she really shone as Angel, but there were also moments when she struggled with the music.  So the casting and acting was a mixed bag for me.

Production: When I first heard that FOX would be airing Rent, I’m going to admit that my heart sank because I had no clue how they were going to air a show like this without totally butchering it (the way Rocky Horror was). The show is filled with profanity, frank discussions about sex and relationships (including one song that is all about fucking). But unlike the ill-fated attempt to bring Rocky Horror to the screen, I ended up being pleasantly surprised that a lot of the show was left more or less unedited. Yes, the cursing was cut out (and not always adeptly) but the song about fucking was left intact (Contact). The lesbian and gay relationships were highlighted and the actors were able to show kissing and physical affection between their characters (including Maureen bouncing on her’s and Joanne’s bed during Take Me or Leave Me). Angel’s gender fluidity wasn’t whitewashed away, and all of the drug references seem to have made it through the editing phase.

That’s not to say that there weren’t edits that left me annoyed. During La Vie Boheme, there were edits made clearly to reduce run time that I felt affected the flow of the number and made no sense. And while they characters could sing about “mucho masturbation” and S&M, the word dildo had to be changed for some silly reason. But for the most part, they got a lot of the original musical in, which made me quite happy.

Explaining the setting of the show (including the impact of the AIDS crisis to viewers who might be too young to understand) and the tribute to Larson at the end was well done and gave the show a frame in history from which to operate. The New York of Rent has changed dramatically since, but this show provides an interesting window on that brief period of our history. And bringing back the original cast from the Broadway production (who I got to see perform several times back in the day) made sitting through the whole show worth while.

Staging: This was an issue that I had a love/hate relationship with. Sometimes the staging was great, and other times it just looked too random. Like they had all this scaffolding, so actors had to run about it as much as possible. I think that the show could have done a better job in setting up actual sets within the scaffolding to create the different settings (Mark’s and Roger’s loft, the Life Cafe, etc). They had the luxury of all that space and didn’t seem to utilize it in a way that was effective. We got the impression of settings rather than actual settings in a lot of cases.

And I had issues with how the show interacted with the studio audience. Too often it seemed that the audience was getting in the way of the production. There were times when it was difficult to hear the singers, and I could have done without the pointless body surfing done during What You Own. 

So all it all, it wasn’t a bad production for the most part. I enjoyed it and have it saved on my DVR so I can watch it again later. I think that the weaknesses of the show don’t detract from my generally being able to enjoy it. Of all the musicals done on television, this is probably one of the better efforts (along with Jesus Christ Superstar last season). I’m looking forward to seeing what happens with Hair (which is airing on NBC in May 2019) and hope that maybe one day we’ll get to see a show aired in its entirety. Too many people don’t have the luxury of seeing live theater and this is a wonderful way to give them a small taste of what going to a Broadway show can entail. Rent wasn’t perfect, but it did a decent job given the limitations of the medium.

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Ten Things • Alfie x Reader

This is the part where you’re supposed to blush for the stain on your dress, the teacake at four in the afternoon, the state of your hair, eavesdropping, or looking at him. Or all of the above. But your mind has ascended to such a state of fucklessness that you merely cock an eyebrow at him.

He breaks out into a crooked smile of surprise. It’s not so bad to look at, and it reminds you that you are, in fact, a creature with particular interests, even if work lately has restricted those interests to your imagination and your own two hands.

@alfiesolcmons​ said: 

What up my names Vanessa, and I never fuckin learned how to read. lol jk. ok I'm 5'3" , relatively curvy, i like books and eating to much food (bread is delicious, just carbs ok). Kinda quiet most of thw time unless the subject which ppl are talking about is something I'm interested in, in that case I'm screaming from the rooftops. I'm Alfie trash and I like beards.

So I took those qualities, added my own innate bitchiness, and voila! Here she is, all 8762 words of her. 

Warning: this thing is a mess start to finish, but at least parts of it are fun?

I. Exhaustion Teacake It’s been a long, long day, and your students have been particularly heinous; Jimmy Westin kept trying to take a cookie from little Maisie Fletcher during lunch, and when you stopped him, he chucked a chunk of ham at you. Now you’re walking home, lugging a bag full of schoolwork to grade, with a brownish stain on your cardigan that looks quite a lot like dried blood.

Fuck it. Fuck it, you’ll take the shortcut.

You’ve been told by more than one person not to venture through the heart of Camden Town, but frankly you can’t tell how much of that is real and how much of that is just people hating Jews. And also, you’re tired as fuck. Even if you do get mugged, it might be nice. Being hit over the head would be the perfect excuse to just lie quietly on the sidewalk for an hour or so.

It is when you’re almost out of Camden Town, sweating slightly and at your absolute weakest, when the smell hits you. Intense, almost sweet, it’s unmistakably the smell of fresh bread wafting out the propped-open door of a bakery. You squint up at it; from the striped green-and-white awning to the gold lettering on the windows, it seems almost a little too good to be true, like someone wandered into your heart’s desires and plopped this shop down in front of you for the express purpose of making you miserable.

Dinner’s in three or four hours. And you’ve been saving up for a new dress, because your favorite red one has been slowly turning pink after being washed so many times. But, fucking hell. You inhale deeply.

You go in. The boy at the front notices the stain on your blouse, but says nothing. You, in turn, eye a long loaf with a crust that looks like it’d give you a proper crunch. There’s also another one, darker and faintly shiny, that looks like it’s been braided. Ultimately, you settle on a beautifully iced teacake and pay up.

There’s no tables or chairs anywhere, just a long counter, but you think of the distance remaining to your flat, you breathe in that sweet air, and fuck it. Standing in one corner of the shop, bag on your arm, you tear off a piece and begin to eat, mentally daring the boy to make any kind of eye contact with you. He does not.

Through the door in the back, muffled voices become clearer, as if from men ascending or descending stairs. They’re speaking a language you don’t know (Yiddish? probably?), and arguing, one defensive, one very, very aggressive. Mind half-fogged with pure bready bliss, half-curious, you peek into the open door that leads into the back of the bakery and see two men, one unspeakably enormous, dark-haired one, and one bearlike man made half of beard and half of rage. Halfway through barking something that sounds like an order, the bearlike one glances out at the shop beyond and makes direct eye contact with you.

This is the part where you’re supposed to blush for the stain on your dress, the teacake at four in the afternoon, the state of your hair, eavesdropping, or looking at him. Or all of the above. But your mind has ascended to such a state of fucklessness that you merely cock an eyebrow at him.

He breaks out into a crooked smile of surprise. It’s not so bad to look at, and it reminds you that you are, in fact, a creature with particular interests, even if work lately has restricted those interests to your imagination and your own two hands.

Then the bearlike man barks an order, and the boy at the front hurries to close the door between the back rooms of the bakery and the front of the shop. You shrug. Almost done with the teacake anyway.

II. Trouble-

Once a week is reasonable, right? It seems reasonable. At any rate, the two people most often manning the front, the curly-haired boy from before and his extremely talkative mother, soon learn your name, and you theirs (Ezra and Judith, respectively), and there’s a pleasant if mildly embarrassing familiarity in that. You come to anticipate the divine, doughy smell and your little corner in the bakery with great pleasure, knowing that it’s the one moment in your day that will likely be silent, free from students or flatmates; even the chatty Judith seems to understand, and lets you stand and eat in peace.

The man’s there too, though rarely. Maybe once every three weeks. You watch him, and sometimes he catches you at it, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You catch Judith talking to him animatedly one day, and venture to ask his name. There can’t be much harm in a name. Castles in the air are for yourself and yourself only, right? Anyway, his name is Alfie, which doesn’t appear to suit his usual growling demeanor much, but pairs decently enough with his guffaws. He gives you something to think about that isn’t the news, or your family, or your flatmates, or your students, and though he’s rarely speaking English, his animated ways give you plenty of entertainment. He’s like a walking, talking dime novel with that swagger. And he’s free, or at least comes free with the pastries and bread.

And the beard’s not bad.

This goes on for a few months, and he still doesn’t know your name but that probably doesn’t matter. There’s a golden moment that more than makes up for it, when you look up from your bread and he’s perfectly framed in the doorway, vest unbuttoned, white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, kneading the dough. You decide the heat’s not so bad if it’s making him sweat. You decide this is almost certainly a trap set by some kind of fiend. (Gods you don’t believe in, but little assholes with the power and will to fuck with you seem pretty reasonable.) You decide you’re not going to look away.

He looks up at you, and you don’t move. He looks back down, and gets on with it. But for the next ten minutes or so, he stays in full view, and you don’t stop looking, and poor Ezra keeps his own eyes glued to the newspaper at hand.

As soon as you get home that night, you start to make inquiries. Out of the five girls that you have crammed into one flat, you get lucky with Letty, whose mother is Jewish.

“Do you know an Alfie?”

“Alfie what?”

“I don’t know. He works at this bakery in Camden Town, built like a barrel.”

“Jesus Christ, Vanessa.”

“What?”

“I knew you’d get after a man eventually. Tessa told me it’s been two years since the last, but him?”

Only two weeks ago, your principal threatened to fire you for not being able to handle the workload, even though your workload has doubled since Ms. Spinelli suddenly quit. So yeah, you went behind the school and drowned the very last fuck you had to give in the river. Her reaction only has you amused. “What’s the problem? He’s not married. Did he kill his wife?”

“Not quite.”

“He’s got the clap? He votes Tory?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I wouldn’t call him a gangster,” she concedes, “but he runs around with that type. He’s killed a man. And everyone knows the bakery’s not really a bakery.”

“Isn’t it? The bread there tastes a lot like bread.”

“It’s a front for something.”

“Mm.” Alright, so now he really is straight out of a dime novel, and you’ve got more fodder with which to entertain yourself. What could one do in a fake bakery? Forge money?

“Oi. Vane.”

“What?” You look over. “Oh, you thought that was going to scare me off him?”

“Doesn’t look like I succeeded.”

“Nah.”

You can feel her reassessing you, and obligingly pull a lazy smile.

“Quiet girls have the most surprises, huh,” she says after a second.

You shrug. “You know where I come from?”

“Orphanage, same as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but when I turned fifteen, they sent me to the Stoker place. You know what they say about Stoker’s?”

“I’ve heard it’s got a reputation.”

“Stoker’s was for the troublemakers and the troublefuckers.”

“Am I supposed to guess which one you were?”

You smile.

III. Cocktail (The Wrong Kind)

They hire a new teacher. Ms. Solokov, and as you walk home that day, you feel a sense of relief mixed with trepidation.

Truth is, you love your students, the grimy, shouty little assholes, because they give you so much trouble. You wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a simple, quiet life; you feed off the chaos, on trying to control it, most of the time, wrangling all of them into learning whether they like it or not.

You’re tired of looking and feeling like a wreck, of course, but with things much tamer, you’re starting to worry about the boredom. Your off days have gotten significantly less entertaining since Tessa got married; she no longer drags you to hip spots around town, and you try (and fail) to not resent Craig for that. Anyways. It’s looking like a boring weekend.

This particular Friday, you have a simple roll, not even toasted, not even with butter. You tear tiny pieces off it and savor the taste as it melts on your tongue. Alfie’s in the back, but you only caught a glimpse of him once, so he’s probably down in the basement, so you turn your imagination to the people outside, making up increasingly ridiculous or tragic stories to explain the baby in that pram (dead mother! Horrible rich father! Will certainly become a bratty heiress!) or that newspaper-throwing boy (destined to become a great writer! Cut down too soon in a foreign war!) or that tall, angry-looking fellow in the long coat (secretly a terrible husband! Soon to be brought down by his crafty wife!) until the tall fellow stops and pulls a bottle out of his coat.

And that’s not too out of the ordinary (a man? Drinking? gasp.) but then you see he’s stuffing something in the bottle, and then out come a lighter and oh shit, that’s a rag about to be lit.

“Oi!” you bellow, because there’s no time to do anything, and Judith ducks down behind the counter as you huddle in your corner, wishing you had something more solid than a dinner roll to chuck back. Fuck there’s a lot of wood in here.

Then it gets worse. The man takes out a revolver and shoots twice, shattering the large windows in a spray of glass, then cocks back his arm, the Molotov cocktail ready to go. Then a third shot blasts through the air, and red blossoms through his gray coat, and he crumples to the ground. The bottle shatters on impact, splashing oil all over him. The rag catches him on fire, and he spends his last minute on earth very noisily.

You’re distracted from the blackening corpse by a yelp. It’s Judith, dismayed, darting into the backroom past Alfie, who’s standing there gun in hand. You know you’re supposed to be scared, but it’s not a bad image, white shirt open at the throat and all. He looks at you. You take a bite and chew slowly. You don’t look away.

You’d be happy to stand there forever, but unfortunately that was your last bite, and. Well.

“Guess I ought to go before the police arrive?” you say.

“Aw, the police don’t care about Camden Town.”

“You seem to manage well enough without them.”

There’s a flash of that crooked grin again. Then he comes around the back of the counter towards you, walking carefully, big boots crunching over the glass. He offers you his hand, the same hand, you can’t help but notice, that held the gun. You take it.

This whole delicate-damsel thing would work a lot better if you had worn some fucking heels, but your walk to work is considerably too long for that nonsense, so instead it’s the crunch crunch of flats over glass. You use him for support even though you don’t need to. His hands are rough and you’d like to know where the calluses come from. You wouldn’t mind feeling them a bit more.

He walks you over the glass, to the door. A few gawkers have begun to cluster in the windows of the dress shop opposite. There’s no more glass, so you relinquish his hand.

If this is a dime novel, you’ll play the cowboy if you want to. And you want to, even if you haven’t got a gun. You know the right lines for the damsel--gratitude, mostly--and they’re fucking boring.

“Till next week, Alfie,” you say, and you leave before he can answer.

You don’t know if he’s watching you go. You hope he is, but you’re feeling pretty pleased either way.

IV. Style/Busy

Now that your workload has lessened, you’ve got the time to spare to, oh, not just dunk yourself in a tub of water and scrub like mad before you pass out on your bed atop still-wet hair. No, you’ve got time to use those curlers. Time to slip a tube of lipstick in your purse. Time to take your savings and get that new dress for yourself, a sensible choice, blue printed with tiny flowers, fake pearl buttons for a touch of, oh, don’t call it class, but maybe style. (You know it flatters the curve of your ass, too. There’s that.)

The shoes. The shoes are a mistake, and you know it even when you’re putting them on, but damn if those delicate heels don’t make your legs look good. You know they make your legs look good.

By the time you make it to the shop that Friday, your toes are pinched all to hell, but you lean into the pain and order yourself an iced bun, telling yourself that the sugar will make up for it. You eat it slow, so slow, and he doesn’t show up; there’s not the slightest flicker of movement in the backroom, and it’s fucking disappointing. You take to eating about a bite a minute. Tiny, tiny bites. You won’t buy anything else to eat; there’s no dignity in that. But if you can just make this one stretch out for--

A car screeches to a halt in the street outside, and you press yourself into the corner as Judith runs into the backroom. Not again. But no, it’s him, jumping out the driver’s side door and walking fast to the door, his white shirt crimsoned by a gash in his shoulder. He barges through the door and pulls up short at the sight of you. Maybe, maybe it was an offense that he forgot about you for a moment, but the look on his face more than makes up for it. Yeah, there’s a considerable distance between your limp-haired, shit-dressed look and your red-lipped, heel-sporting look. You know you look a proper fashion plate. You know he’d like a look underneath the blue.

You raise an eyebrow.

He starts, remembers there are other things he needs. Fumbles for the words.

“I take it you’re busy?” you prompt.

“You could say that.”

He’s dripping blood on the floor, and there’s a pleasure in the fact you don’t have to give a damn about it. He’s no child that needs to be told to sit down and get bandaged up. He’s a man, and if he’s going to run round wounded, that’s his goddamn choice.

“Go on, then,” you say.

He disappears into the backroom, thunders down the stairs, and emerges minutes later carrying a long black box rather like a violin case, except rectangular and far, far too long to be for a violin.

You watch the car careen away, and then you call to Judith, “It’s fine!” Shoving the rest of the bun in your mouth, you chew with gusto and begin your walk home.

Next week, you wear a softer lipstick and ditch the heels, but the hair’s the same and so is the dress. A little effort’s fine. The blackberry scone is sublime. And then, no matter how slow you eat, he doesn’t fucking show.

“He is alive, isn’t he?” you say to Judith.

“Yes, dear.” Bless her, she doesn’t judge you a whit, just says it and gets back to the paperwork she likes to do during slow hours.

“Thanks, Judith.”

V. Good People

The next time you go, you wear what you want: the cute dress, the aggressive lipstick, flat shoes. The newspaper was interesting that morning so you didn’t bother with the hair. You’ve got no expectations, and things are a little lighter that way, albeit a little less exciting.

Due to an extended all-school meeting, you’re dreadfully late and the place is jam-packed, but that doesn’t matter. The shop turns up a delightful surprise for you: a man named Moshe, just a year younger than you, who was trained as a teacher at the exact same time. Who incidentally you couldn’t marry for the same reason you’ve never been able to marry, namely that you’ve never wanted to. But it’s still good to see him again.

All through the line, you talk about your respective schools, and end up hotly debating pedagogical methods, the relative psychological merits of penalties and rewards. Somehow that slips into the relatively modern history of English schools and the influx of lascars and freedmen and loops right back around to the balance of power between the teacher and the parent and then you get a beautiful spot where you’re the only one that can talk because Moshe’s busy ordering two loaves and then you’re so invigorated that you get a small loaf that’s still larger than both your fists put together and far too large for one sitting. And then the two of you huddle in the corner and dip into the ethics of bodily autonomy and you know you’re gabbling like an idiot but fuck it’s been a long time and you’ve missed all this arguing--

“Y’know, me,” rumbles a voice behind you, “I vouch for a smack upside the ‘ead. Is that not an option on the table? Because it should be.”

Alfie slides into the conversation, much too close, and on the wrong side. That is, he leans into Moshe’s personal space, and the poor man blanches.

“Mr. Solomons!” He fumbles with his bags in order to get his right hand free, then offers it. “We so appreciated your, ah, your actions regarding the school redistricting. Truly. A disaster averted.”

Alfie shakes his hand too hard and for too long and you’re on the verge of rolling his eyes.

“He’s just getting a couple loaves for his family,” you say. “Wife and three children. We trained together.”

“Oh, do you know Vanessa?” says Moshe, smiling anxiously, shaking out his hand by his side.

“Vanessa? No.”

“Oh.”

But the both of you are looking at each other, you in faint exasperation and Alfie in an irritating mask of benevolence, so Moshe adds, “I should get home, there’s a list of groceries as long as my arm that I still have to pick up. Good seeing you again, Vanessa, very good seeing you, Mr. Solomons.” Then he slips out the door.

Behind you, the rush of the day has petered out to just a couple customers and Judith. It’s few enough for you to talk properly.

“He was nice,” you say. “And he’s a good man, which is rarer. You shouldn’t scare off good people.” Even if they’re good people that you have indeed fucked, thank you very much.

He gives you one of those shit-eating grins. “If they’re good people, they’ve got no reason to be scared of me, innit”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Mmh.” There goes one of those undefinable sounds whose meaning is lost in his beard. You choose to take it as a grunt of concession. Then: “Do you always talk that much?”

You shrug. Judith, without looking up from the change she’s counting out, says, “No, she doesn’t.”

You have to stifle a smirk at that. So much for the appearance of a private conversation. If Judith knows, the whole neighborhood knows, but it’s not your neighborhood and you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Do you bake?” he says abruptly.

“Would I be here if I did?”

“Would you like to learn?” he says, sardonic and a little slow.

“What would it cost me?”

“Oh, whatever you can spare.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

VI. Fast/Slow

The sun has just set as you make your way to the shop. There’s not many people around; most are finishing up dinner with their families. The shop has been closed for about an hour now, but the backroom is lit and when you try the door, you find it unlocked. You lock it after you.

The backroom much larger than you previously thought, a cavernous space complete with what seems like miles of countertop. Alfie’s in a chair in the back, heels up on a table, reading the finance section of the newspaper and smoking a cigarette. When you come in, he chucks the cigarette in the ashtray and gets to his feet.

“Vanessa!” he cries. Then he stops short. “Did you bring a gun?”

“No.” You hand over your purse to prove it. “Are you disappointed?”

“Very fuckin’ disappointed.”

“Then get me one yourself. I don’t have new-gun money.” You reach over, pick up the cigarette, and have a puff. It’s an old vice of yours, not one you indulge often. But tonight’s a night for vice, clearly.

“You have teacake money.”

“I have my priorities in order.”

Up close and in private, you’ve got the ability to try and figure out whether his eyes are green or blue. So you do. Green, you decide, and then you sweep your eyes over the rest of him.

“Go on and bake,” you say. “I’ll watch.”

“What ‘appened to student participation?”

“I imagine that’ll come later on.”

You perch on one long countertop, smoking and swinging your heels, as he begins measuring and mixing the dry ingredients. Well. You say measuring, but he’s mostly eyeballing it.

“So you’re a teacher, eh?” he says.

“Yes. Do you want to be taught?”

“Tell me about the Italians.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything in the last twenty years. Politics, culture, London immigration history.”

It is flattering that he thinks you know all that. And you do know all that, having taken particular interest in modern immigration, but there’s just one thing.

“Are people going to die?” you say.

Halfway through cracking an egg, he looks up. “People die every day, Vanessa.”

“Are Italians going to die?”

“Italians are people, stands to fuckin’ reason.”

“Three of my students are Italian.”

“Any kid young enough to be your student probably has at least another thirty years on ‘em.”

You consider this. “All right, I think you’ll be most interested in the Sicilians…”

And you’re off to the races. You talk through the ingredients mixing, you talk through the dough getting kneaded (your favorite part), and then he puts it in a bowl and you’re still talking and--

“Doesn’t that lot go in the oven?” you interrupt yourself.

“I thought you were fucking with me when you said you didn’t know how to bake.”

“Well, surprise.”

“It needs to rise.”

“Needs to what now?”

“It’s going to grow until it’s twice the size it is now.”

“Shit, I didn’t know baking was interesting.”

“Yeah?” He scratches his jaw with a couple beringed fingers. “You’ve seemed pretty interested.”

“Come here,” you say, and he does. “How long does it take to rise, do you think?”

“Half an hour, forty-five minutes.”

“I can think of some ways to pass the time.” You spread your legs a few inches.

He grins, and settles himself between them, the fabric of his work trousers rough against the insides of your thighs, the metal of his rings cold on your knees, his right thumb tracing tiny circles on your left leg, warm. “You’re a fast little thing, aren’t you?”

“Little, maybe. A thing, no. And Alfie?”

“Mmh?”

Hooking your thumbs in his belt loops, you grasp his hips and pull him forward till he’s flush against you, your heels tucking him in closer. “Nothing about this has been fast. I’ve been wanting you inside me for four months now, and you’ve wanted the same for nearly as long. Four months of thinking about it, and nothing stopping you, four months of wondering what you’re going to taste like, four months of only my own fingers and a--”

He kisses you hard and you smile your victory into it till the smile melts under heat, his hands rucking up your skirt, yours frantic at his belt buckle, hips rolling and words vanishing till his rings clatter off onto the countertop, he slips a hand into your panties, and the kiss suddenly ends.

The expression on his face, the surprise there, followed by gratification? Delicious. He brings his fingers up to his mouth to taste, and that’s a sight, isn’t it? He must know it is, because you catch a glimpse of pink tongue, and that was entirely unnecessary for the purpose.

“You did that,” you admit to him. “Don’t get--” Your fingers dig into his shoulders when you feel him pressing into you. “--fucking arrogant about it.”

“Too late,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on your throat and his fingers stretch slow and perhaps there’s a rebuttal to that but you can’t be bothered to think of it when you can run your hands through his hair instead.

He fucks you like you expected, hard and fast, the edge of the counter cutting into your thighs, the stretch in your cunt more than worth it, and his mouth travelling everywhere, an unexpected bonus. It’s good and then it’s too good to be true, because despite your best attempts at clinging, he pulls away.

Now it’s his turn to enjoy the expression on your face, but then, there are options here. You have options.

“I’ll do it myself,” you say, and sure enough one finger slides in easy, then two, and you know yourself, know just how to crook your fingers and find the right spot and he’s drinking in the sight like a man in a desert but before you can hit a proper rhythm, his hand closes over your wrist.

You make a desperate sound down low in a part of your throat you didn’t even know was capable of making noise. “There are easier ways to make me fight you.” Your voice is ragged to your own ears.

“If nothing about this has been fast, with half an hour left, why start now? I can take care of you. Are you going to let me?”

You rest your head against the wall, taking in the sweat-soaked sight of him. You’re tempted to just pull him in, knowing you could persuade him in two seconds to fuck you again. He’s good at bluffing, but his cock’s more than enough evidence of impatience.

Curiosity has always been your weakness, though, and he’s not specified how he wants to take care of you.

“Yes,” you say.

He kneels.

The insides of your thighs are red. You’re going to have beard burn there for a couple days. It’s worth it.

VII. Lend Me Your Rear

He shows up at your front door, which is a mistake. Not one he could’ve known, because you haven’t talked to him about your flatmates yet, but still a mistake.

You don’t bother asking how he got your address.

“What can I do for you?” you say.

A wolfish smile spreads across his face. “I was thinking--”

You open the door much wider, revealing your roommates, four other women, listening in unabashedly. Letty waves.

He waves back.

“I, ah, got you a book,” he says.

“Really.”

But he has. It’s packaged in brown paper, but you can feel that it’s a thick hardback.

“The Bible? That’s very sweet of you,” you say.

“Right.” He reaches to take it back, but you’re too quick.

“I’ll open it later.”

“When?”

“When you drive me to your flat, in about two minutes. Let me get my purse.”

He doesn’t look particularly happy with that, but he can’t object, can he? Not when he’s already butted into your place.

His flat is odd, clearly not meant for visitors, small and very full, with two bookshelves and a massive bin holding a ridiculous number of unwashed clothes, plus six apples on the kitchen table for no apparent reason.

You gesture at the shelves. “What’s all this?”

He shrugs. “Got a taste for it in prison. Quakers used to donate old shit, and I was bored.”

“Are you still bored?”

“Sometimes.”

You move a pile of paperwork from a chair to the floor, then sit down and start tearing at the brown paper packaging.

“Volumes one and two of Gibbons’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” You look up. “Not quite what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“The Kama Sutra?”

He laughs. “I have that around here somewhere.”

“Save it for a rainy day.” You trace the edge of the cover with one finger, then flip it open to a random page and begin to read. “The troops fought like men interested in the decision of the quarrel; and as military spirit and party zeal were strongly diffused throughout the whole community, a vanquished chief was immediately supplied with new adherents, eager to shed their blood in the same cause.” You look up and grin.

“Wot?”

“The Italian information wasn’t just because Italians are going to die. You get off on this, don’t you.”

“Is it so unusual to want someone with a full head?”

“As opposed to an empty one? No, not unusual. But gratifying.”

“How gratifying?”

“Come over and find out.”

It’s nice to finally fuck on a bed for once. Afterwards, you drape yourself across his back, tracing the scars there.

“You’re Shakespeare, you know that?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Though she be but little--”

You bite his shoulder.

“It was a compliment!” he protests.

“She is fierce? I know.” You press your lips to the bitten skin. “It was a thank-you. I’m fond of Beatrice.”

He checks it over. Sure enough, you didn’t break skin, but there are marks on him now. He makes a face.

“If I knew you were so delicate…”

You both laugh.

“You remind me of Shakespeare too,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“You want to guess?”

“I am a Jew.”

“I’m aware, Alfie.”

He grunts; you grin. “I take it that The Merchant of Venice was one of the old things donated?”

He nods.

“Go on, then.”

“I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?” At first, he starts lightly, trying to inject irony in his voice, distance, but it doesn’t work; the rhythm of the words carries him along. “Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?” You can see, now, why Moshe called him Mr. Solomons and not Alfie; why he seems able to command the entire neighborhood. You see where the ability to ignore his own spilled blood comes from.

The rest of the speech is one long exercise in seeing how low his voice can go, and at the very last line, he strokes your cheek, tender like he’s never been, a menace in it that makes your mouth go dry.

“The villainy you teach me I will execute,” he murmurs, “And it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.”

You didn’t think that you could be surprised by wanting him in any kind of way again, but here you are, thighs still sticky from the last time and you want him, you want him, you want him. And you take him, giving what you received, bruising but also, also. Taking note when he trembles.

Later, when you’re so worn-out you won’t even lift your head to talk, you say, “You didn’t guess right.”

The truth is, you were thinking about the time a teacher asked for an analysis of Marc Antony’s famous speech and you ended up wanting to fuck him. The ambition, the skill, the bloodlust underneath it all, the wrenching sobs in front of a crowd, flash of white teeth grinning victory in private--yeah, you could ride that ancient motherfucker. Alfie’s not at that level of duplicity, but he’s got the same charisma, the same savagery underneath.

“What was it, then?” he says.

His ego is healthy enough already; it doesn’t need feeding.

“Exeunt, pursued by a bear.”

VIII. A Problem

“You know what? There should be a problem by now,” he declares.

“Mm?” You lean back in your chair. He likes to monologue and you don’t mind listening.

“The honeymoon’s fucking over, innit.”

“I wasn’t aware we were married.”

“We’re not, but it’s been three months. Three months means we should’ve found a fucking problem. You give any two people three months together, and they should be able to find a dozen problems and go their separate ways, right?”

You eye him suspiciously, but he doesn’t seem to be gearing himself up for a separation; on the contrary, he just looks like he’s pontificating as per usual. You relax. “A problem like what?”

“Like the danger isn’t very fucking sexy anymore now that you’re close enough to get shot if a man comes through that door. Like you’re tired of staying inside and you want to be walking on my arm, like you haven’t seen a share of the profits, like you realize you’ll never get any further in, like you want kids, like you’re fuckin’...worried about saving my soul or some such shit.” Alright, maybe this is not a usual speech. He does look mildly worried.

“That’s a pretty big ego you have there, Alfie,” you say. “You do see that none of it fits, right?”

“I see that, and it’s very fucking concerning, because I’m wondering what brand new three month problem you’re going to come up with. You and that imagination.”

“A finger up the ass is not innovation, Alfie, it’s a pretty common cure for temporary boredom.”

“And the fucking marathon last Friday?”

“That I’ll proudly claim as a personal invention.”

He smiles, and it’s a little terrifying, that. Yeah, maybe he is a little fond of you, maybe you’re a little fond of him, but it’s still two people getting what they want, at the core. That’s what it is.

“Listen,” you say, “If you want a problem, you’ll have to make it up yourself, because I have none. And for the record, there’s a three-month mark for women, too, and it’s wildly different.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You get up out of your chair and got to sit in his lap, tilting his chin up, beard itchy in your palm. “At three months, he’ll start to think he owns you. You can see this because he’ll start to try to make you marry him, start to get bored and see other women, start to try in bed less and less, start to push you around.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“I think if we’re going to talk about changes at three months, we should talk about how completely unwedded I am to you, in every sense of the word. How I know that the good shit--the nearly unbelievable shit, the way you try to read ahead of me in Gibbons, the loaves you give me when I go, the way you get off on getting me off--how I know that good shit sometimes doesn’t last. How I abandon wells that have gone dry, how I’ve got too much fucking experience for that.” Your grip on his jaw tightens. “Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t pity me, it wasn’t me. It was my sister, and a girl I trained with, and probably half the other women out there. It’s only common sense, nothing personal.”

“You don’t trust me, eh?”

“I don’t see the need. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you have an entire room you keep locked every time I come over.”

He looks guilty, and that’s not at all what you wanted, not what you expected. To have a locked room is not beyond the bounds of what you’re here for, after all.

“Don’t get hurt feelings,” you say. “It’s not my fault a woman can’t be both safe and sentimental at the same time.”

“She could try.”

“She doesn’t want to. You kill people, Alfie.”

“...Yeah.”

“Then there we are.” There’s something in his eyes you can’t read, and that’s a problem, that right, there, but if you can’t figure it out, you can’t fix it. You kiss him by way of a panacea, and then you get up and wander over to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Is it that simple?” he calls after you.

“It is.”

IX. Rum Is For Pirates

And it seems that way for another very good two weeks. You still stop by the bakery every now and again, but it’s rarer; mostly he picks you up at eight and returns you before midnight, and that’s a little less sleep for you but a lot more fun. Problems, despite his prediction, do not arise.

Until rum night. After much wild guessing, you’ve finally hit upon the distillery in the bakery basement, and he’s agreed to fill you with about as many samples of the product as you can bear, it being a Saturday night and neither of you heading to church Sunday.

“It’s shit, innit,” he says, pulling a face after his first drink.

“Then why are you having another?”

He shrugs, and grins, and you’re halfway to kissing that off his face when the phone rings.

He mutters his replies, again in Yiddish, and you’re idly contemplating the possibility of licking something off his shoulder blades. Not rum, whiskey maybe. But his voice rises in concern and lowers back into something steadier than usual, which you read as reassurance, and by the time he hangs up, you’ve got your shoes on.

“I can walk from here,” you say. It’s not a great time of night, but nobody’s going to touch you.

“No, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me,” he says.

“I’m not doing a thing for your business.”

“It’s closer to your business than mine.”

Which is how you end up knocking on the door of a crowded flat with a five year old girl jumping up and down shouting on the sofa and a twelve year old boy, face grave, answering the door.

“Hi,” you say. “I’m Vanessa.” You stick out your hand, which he shakes like he’s a fortysomething banker. It would be charming if the backdrop wasn’t so sad.

“I’m Joshua. Did Mr. Solomons send you?” he says.

“Yes, he just drove to get you some groceries.”

“The stores are all closed.”

“He’ll find a way.” Thankfully, this seems to satisfy the little man, and you don’t have to elaborate on what’s undoubtedly going to be a fair bit of theft. He steps aside and lets you in.

“How long has it been just you two?” you say.

“Two days.”

“What’s her name?”

“Tabitha. Tabby for short.”

“Alright.” You lock the door behind you, then squat in front of him. “Joshua, you’ve done a good job. We’re going to take care of this. Can you do something for me?”

“Maybe.”

God, the kid’s smart. Your chest aches. “Can you get some water for you and your sister?”

“Why?”

“Because dehydration always comes first.” You straighten.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have a look in the bedroom.”

“Don’t.”

“Love, someone’s going to have to do it. Or it’s going to make the whole flat smell very bad. It’s not going to go away.”

His face crumples. You squat down again and give him a hug, and presently the little girl has climbed down off the sofa to join in. She smells like piss but that’s understandable. Your dress was going to be a wreck after tonight anyway.

When they’re both done crying, you sit them down at the kitchen table for some water each, and then you venture into the bedroom. You were expecting a mother, but this is clearly more of a grandmother, hair gray, and not beginning to smell too much, yet. Eyes closed, thank God. You’ve not dealt with many bodies in your time, but it’s always twice as bad when the eyes are open.

Likely there’s some sort of culturally polite way to deal with this, but there are children waiting on you to get it over with, so you untuck the edges of the sheet from under the mattress and tie her up in the sheets, bundling pretty tightly.

Joshua doesn’t seem to like the silence much, so you end up talking loudly through the crack in the door, even as you start in on the bathroom with soap and a rag.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Joshua.”

“Who are you?”

“Vanessa.”

“Are you Mr. Solomon’s wife?”

“No, I’m a teacher.”

“I’ve never seen you at school.”

“There are other schools.”

He absorbs this.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Joshua.”

“Who is Mr. Solomons?”

You want to laugh. “I’m not sure, sometimes. I suppose he’s a baker. He likes rum. Maybe he’s a pirate.”

“Pirates need ships.”

“A pirate on land, then. He has the beard for it, right?”

“I guess.”

“How do you know him, Joshua?”

“He was there when Dad went to jail. Dad’s a murderer,” he says, like murderer is the same as florist or milkman.

You find yourself saying, “Oh,” politely, like you do to old friends declaring marriages you don’t approve of.

“Yeah, and he gave us a card with his phone number on it. It had a flower on it. It was pretty fancy.”

Just then, the door opens, and Alfie storms in in a flurry of jovial Yiddish and a mass of bags. By the time you emerge into the kitchen, the kids are stuffing their faces with makeshift sandwiches of bread and cheese. You wait until you’re quite close to him, then you lift onto your tiptoes and murmur in his ear: “Do you know where you’re taking her?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should do it now.”

You cover Tabby’s eyes with one hand, but Joshua’s such a little man, he won’t let you, and you don’t have the heart to force him to look away. Anyways, when Alfie carries her out, all wrapped up in the sheets, she just looks like a bundle. You tied those knots tight.

The miracle is that Tabby actually likes taking baths, so that’s not so difficult, and then the food hits her and Joshua at about the same time.

“You didn’t have to touch the body,” he says, as you both watch them, curled up, asleep on the sofa.

“It was the work at hand.”

“I can have Ollie walk you home, if you want.”

“Ollie?”

“Tall, dark hair. You could bump into him while robbing his house and he’d apologize to you for it.”

“Oh, that one. No, it’s fine. There’s still laundry to do, and I know you’re shit at laundry.”

“I’ve done my own laundry for decades now, mate.”

“It’s a little sad that you’re so proud of it, Alfie.”

“I can handle this myself.”

“I know. But I’m here now, so I might as well.”

It’s several hours of work, but not without its peculiar rewards. While packing up the grandmother’s clothes, you even catch Alfie shining Joshua’s little shoes.

“Wot?” he says, as if you’ve accused him of something.

You just shake your head and get back to folding blouses.

After what feels like a month but is probably more like several hours, Judith shows up, and the house is clean and as childproofed as can be, you and Alfie both dozing in separate chairs.

You don’t even bother to explain, just lurch up out of the chair.

“Wait,” says a little voice. It’s Joshua, blinking sleepily up at the three of you. “Where are you going?”

You start forward, but Alfie’s closer, and he holds up a hand, so you let him take it. You watch as he kneels next to the sofa and starts talking, softly. You don’t understand the words, but you don’t have to. Joshua’s little face is earnest and rapt beneath the sleepiness.

“Hello,” Judith says to you, brightly.

“Hello.” You offer her a smile. You know this is all ridiculous, or maybe again that’s the sleep deprivation.

She reaches into her purse and produces a muffin.

“You’re a queen among women, Judith. An absolute queen.”

The muffin doesn’t last you nearly long enough; soon you find yourself sitting next to Alfie in the car, and nothing to do with your mouth. You think you might be supposed to say something, but you don’t know what it is. You’re not quite sure how to act. Because now you’re not just the foulmouthed teacher that doesn’t know when to stop, and he’s not just the violent baker that amasses power via killing and stealing in his spare time. You’re still all of that, but other things too, enough to make you people.

“Have we found a problem?” he says.

You shake your head. “It’s just different.”

Maybe it is a bit of a problem, because now that he’s more than a cock with various attractive qualities attached, he’s a man, and you’ve never known what to do with a man before, never having seriously tried.

He’s watching you. “You still want a drink?”

You look out the car window. The sky is beginning to lighten in the east, and all your body wants to do is sleep, but leaving him now feels like leaving something unfinished. “Why not?”

X. High Sun

You wake up to a lick on your face. “No.” You push away, but your hand meets fur, not skin, and--”Alfie!”

“Wot?” He ambles in from the kitchen, looking like he’s not even hungover, the bastard, already dressed, apple in hand.

“You had a dog this whole time and didn’t tell me?”

“Yeah.” He clucks at the little brown spaniel, which leaps off the bed and circles his feet, panting excitedly. “Want an apple?”

“No.” You sit up, swiping your hair out of your face. The first time you’ve slept in his bed, and you didn’t even fuck first. You’re not sure how to feel about that. “Is that what you kept all locked up in the room?”

“I have guns and papers and illegal shit in there. My neighbor takes the dog when you come over. But he had to go to work this morning.”

“Right.” You make it to the bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet, which helps, oddly enough. You wash yourself up, bath and all, and emerge in one of his shirts, partly because your dress is spoilt but partly because you’ve always wanted to. He demonstrates his appreciation for the sight first by handing over toast spread thick with butter, then by watching you eat with particularly avid eyes. You lick your fingers clean when you’re done.

“Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“You’re going to have to lock the dog in the bathroom for this part.”

He does.

You take your time unbuttoning the shirt while he rushes to get off the vest, the shirt, the trousers, the socks, it’s funny and then suddenly he’s crawling up the bed, sliding a hand up your thigh, and you forget what’s funny with his head between your legs, taking his time. He licks into you and palms your breasts and you’re not used to this, the odd, luxurious feeling of hardly moving at all, flexing a little under him, taking everything and giving nothing. But it’s on offer, so you take it.

He doesn’t make it easy on you, though. He usually knows when you’re close, because your nails leave crescents on his shoulders, or his hair gets a sharp tug, but this time he backs off even before that, slows down the pace, lapping at you in a way that’s nowhere close to satisfying. He reaches up and palms your breasts, but that’s not much use, either. You bite your lip and wait. Clearly, the man has a plan, and you’ll indulge him.

The plan turns out to be him touching you in every possible way that’s unsatisfactory: one finger slipping in, shallowly, a slight prickle of teeth dragging down your neck, two fingers in while he mouths at your nipples and that’s--oh that’s alright, that’s better, but the rhythm’s barely there and you’re this close to just shoving him off and taking care of yourself (as you’ve done twice now, on occasions when the frustration became too much), but then he ducks back down, starts sucking at your clit properly, and and you sigh a yeah, like that.

When he finally lets you come, you’re whimpering for it, hands clutching at the sheets, words lost to the pleasure, sight almost too. You look down, afterwards, and he’s got his head resting on your thigh, watching you with a pride that doesn’t annoy you as much as it used to. Doesn’t annoy you at all, actually.

“Come here,” you say.

He crawls up obligingly for the kiss, moans his encouragements when you feel him through his trousers. He breaks away entirely when you unbutton them and guide him into you. So much, so soon after your last orgasm, you can feel yourself twitching like mad, squirming into him, away from him, but you hold yourself to it because you want to see. And when you look up, yeah, there it is: the slightest of hesitation, buried under ten layers of his cock thinking for him, enough that he moves far too slowly to be giving anything to himself. There it is. You were right.

You push him off, clumsy still but determined, push him till you’ve got him on his back, where you want him, and you can mount him again, biting down on a fuck at how much it all is, oversensitive yes but determined more than anything else. You roll against him once, give a shit-eating grin at his groan, and then start to ride him in earnest. “Come on,” you pant, when you’ve got your voice back enough to manage two syllables. You’re five strokes behind coming apart, but you’re holding on, you want to take him with you. “Fuck me,” and he looks up at you, trembling above him, with something like awe, and obeys.

When a wet washcloth has done its work and you’re side by side in the bed (another first) and the record player sings out some sweet contralto, he discovers that he likes to play with your hair, and you don’t see any point in stopping him.

“We could do this again,” he says.

“I was planning on it.”

“No, all of this. Breakfast, and the dog.”

“And scrubbing down floors at 3am?”

“I’ll try to keep the dead bodies out of it, love, but I can’t promise it’ll be all be sunshine if you stick around for more than three hours a week.”

Yeah, that’s fair. You should say no to the whole thing. But there’s worse things than a dog, some toast, an midday fuck. There’s worse things than sweet and savage, fingers sure on your thighs, on a trigger, on the handle of a broom. Where else are you gonna find a man that can play tenderness straight to a little boy, gentle and right, and then turn around and play tenderness twisted up to a threat too, rasping in a way that makes you wet? You would’ve been just fine with the cock alone, but there’s other things to consider, you see that now. You decide to let yourself consider them.

“I’ll think about it.”

Requests currently closed. For others like this, check out my desktop masterlist, my "mine” tag, or my ao3 account.

[jcobmrtn]

Mountain Man - Jake’s Playlist

1. Mother Nature’s Son - The Beatles 

(Jake enjoys nature, hiking, camping, and anything to do with the outdoors)

Born a poor young country boy--Mother Nature's son All day long I'm sitting singing songs for everyone

Sit beside a mountain stream--see her waters rise

Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies

Find me in my field of grass--Mother Nature's son Swaying daisies sing a lazy song beneath the sun

2. Girl All The Bad Guys Want - Bowling For Soup

(Jake enjoys Vanessa’s friendship, he sometimes wonders if she considers looking his way for once, but realizes she’s got a type)

She likes the godsmack and I like agent orange Her CD changer's full of singers that are mad at their dad She says she'd like to score some reefer and a forty She'll never know that I'm the best that she'll never have

And when she walks, All the wind blows and the angels sing. She'll never notice me!

3. Still Not A Player - Big Pun

(Jake not a fan of settling down anytime soon, so he enjoys hooking up with girls at his leisure)

I love from butter pecan to blackberry molass' I don't discriminate, I regulate every shade of the ass Long as you show class, and pass my test Fat (ass and) breasts, highly intelligent bachlorettes That's the best, I won't settle for less I wanna ghetto brunette, with unforgettable sex I lay your head on my chest, come feel my heartbeat We can park the Jeep, pump Mobb Deep, and just spark the leaf

4. Love is War - Scorpion

(Jake loved and respected his dad all of his life, but once he found out he was cheating on his mom and would eventually tear his family apart, he lost all respect for the man)

You were once a friend to me Now you are my enemy Passion turns to hate and you make Hate worth fighting for I will re-write history And you will not exist to me On the day you crossed the line I found out love is war

5. KK - Wiz Khalifa

(Jake enjoys smoking weed, it helps relax him when life becomes too complicated)

I got KK in my pipe, pockets fat like Kelly Price If you wanna take a hit you can't be afraid of heights You gon' need some new lungs, roll me up a blunt-a-thon While I'm smoking out the bong getting sucked like a thumb Boy I’m in a daze, tangerine haze I smoke so much KK they should've called it Juicy J Bombay and lemonade, weed get the lemon taste Never hit the bong, let me demonstrate

6. Paolo Nutini - Better Mans

(Jake has been friends with Katie for years, but his feelings for her have been growing deeper for a little while. He doesn’t want to ruin their relationship by saying anything, so he keeps his feelings at bay)

Gonna treat her like a real man can She's fearless, she's free Oh she is a real live wire And that girl She's got me feeling so much better Oh you trade all the money in the world Just to see this girl's smile All the while, she'll make you feel so much better

7. Eric Clapton - Cocaine

(Cocaine makes Jake feel better some days, helps him not only focus on schoolwork, but helps him feel less anxious or afraid)

If you got that lose, you want to kick them blues, cocaine When your day is done, and you want to ride on cocaine

She don't lie, she don't lie, she don't lie, Cocaine

8. Swimming Pools -Kendrick Lamar

(Jake loves a good time, and whether it’s smoking and drinking with Eli, or patrolling parties for girls, he dives in head first)

Nigga why you babysittin' only 2 or 3 shots? I'mma show you how to turn it up a notch First you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it Pool full of liquor, then you dive in it I wave a few bottles, then I watch 'em all flock All the girls wanna play Baywatch I got a swimming pool full of liquor and they dive in it Pool full of liquor I'mma dive in it