#and just as he was about to come home his previous owner told me he'd regurgitated his last meal

[littlenoodlesoup]

I've been holding my breath for a week and a half, but so help me, my little guy took a f/t mouse like a champ this morning (after about eight strikes and then grabbing it sideways, but he finally got it in there) and dear lord it's been a while since I've been so relieved about a pet.

And now... we wait for poop.

[steddiewithachance]

I'm Here on Business

Wayne is a regular at the bookstore Steve works at and badgers Steve into going on a blind date with his kid.

For @extocancer Happy New Years!!! I hope you enjoy your presents ◡̈

***

It's a quiet night in the little bookstore on the corner of Brinks and Williams. Steve is sitting behind the check-out counter flicking the leaf of a potted pothos placed next to the register. Soft music plays from the radio behind him.

Steve likes taking the evening shifts at the shop just to see the place warmly lit up by all of the eclectic and ornate lamps that Amber, the owner, has collected. The store doesn't give him migraines from obnoxious fluorescent light, which has been an issue at previous jobs.

Ever since Robin moved out of their apartment for Grad school, it's been upsetting to be at home alone at night. Without her company, the couch feels longer. And without her unhinged apartment decor, the walls feel taller and colder. Consequently, Steve has taken on more work hours instead of being home.

Plus, he has kind of fallen in love with reading. It came as a shock to him that he could enjoy it as much as he does. It started when his all-female team of coworkers began ranting to each other about these romance novels they were all into. He felt a little left out and decided to give one of them a try. It turns out that reading was actually a really great coping mechanism for dealing with his temporary loss of Robin.

The nicest, and most surprising thing to come out of this job though, is probably Wayne. A one-time customer turned regular, turned tentative friend for Steve. He's got a caring, parental energy that Steve's own parents never had.

The guy looks like he'd have a gruff or standoffish personality. His face naturally rests in a frown and he's got receding grey hair. He wears a flannel every day without fail; he's got a million different colors of them and Steve has even made a game of predicting which one he'll be wearing when he comes in.

"Did ya guess right today, boy?" Wayne will ask.

"No," Steve often admits glumly. "The universe told me you'd be wearing your green and blue one."

So anyway, Wayne comes around a lot to make small talk. He often mentions how he misses his son, Eddie. He's so stiff with personal information about his kid, but one time he let it slip that Eddie was on tour with his band. Steve had a field day afterward colluding with Google to find out exactly who Wayne's son was.

Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of rock group Corroded Coffin.

Steve hadn't heard of ‘em but they certainly have a following. He listened to some of their stuff, to give himself some context for the next time Wayne brought up Eddie's music. It was nice enough, the guy has a good voice.

Steve's been waiting for Wayne to come in tonight. He's later than usual and it would be ridiculous for Steve to worry about a man who probably just thinks of Steve as that one kid who works at the bookstore. He may not come in at all tonight, and that would be fine too. Steve's still holding out on him pulling up in his... yellow flannel.

Steve's about to cave and start the next book in the current series he's reading when the door jingles. Wayne pushes inside in his mother fucking yellow flannel.

"Yellow Flannel!" Steve exclaims. Wayne chuckles and drops a book on the counter followed by a receipt.

"You got me right today?" Wayne asks fondly.

"Yup. It's been a while. I was aching for a win." Steve starts returning Wayne's book for him without giving him slack this time. Wayne treats the store like a library and Steve doesn't have the heart to tell him it's not allowed.

"Was this book any good?" Steve throws Wayne's receipt back at him and starts moving around the counter to put it back on the shelf for some other historical fiction lover to purchase.

"It was just alright." Wayne follows behind him languidly, eyeing the rows of colorful book spines for something that catches his eye. "But actually I'm here on business tonight."

Steve leans on the shelf and waits impatiently for Wayne to tell him what sort of business he's on.

"I think you ought to go on a date with Eddie. I think you two'd compliment each other."

Well, that's... not what Steve was expecting to hear.

"That's business to you? You came here to set me up on a blind date with your famous kid? I think he's gonna be a tad underwhelmed by a bookstore employee, Wayne." Steve's not gonna lie, he's a little intrigued by the prospect of dating a musician. He read a romance novel about one, not that long ago. Concerts, greenroom intimacy, targeted lyrics: Steve could be into it, in theory.

And ultimately, Steve did see photos of Eddie on Google and he's attractive. He looks good holding a guitar.

"He's gonna be home for a while so I figured now's a good time. Just go on one date. He's a big softie, you'll like him." Wayne pulls a book off the shelf and squints to try and read the title. He holds it further from his eyes before giving up and pushing it back into its slot.

"What happens if he doesn't like me? Will you still come around?" Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair. It wouldn't be the end of the world if Wayne stopped showing up, but it would probably hurt a little. It might fan the flame of his fear of abandonment.

"Of course, unless you break his heart. I know where you work, young man." Wayne pats his shoulder good-naturedly.

"Okay old man, you need my number to hand off?"

***

A day later, when Steve feels his phone buzz against his thigh, his instincts already know who it is. His heart gives that anticipatory squeeze he often gets before a first date with someone he finds attractive.

The text reads:

Hi Steve, this is eddie. Wayne swears we're soulmates. Wanna get dinner on friday?

It's a funny text to receive out of nowhere. Steve doubts Wayne actually used that word, but he imagines that Eddie is probably getting more of an earful than Steve got about this whole blind date. He also wonders what kind of person calls their dad by their first name.

Hi Eddie. I'd love to get dinner on Fri and discuss our soulmate status. I'm pretty sure he expects us to be married by the end of the night. Should I bring my tux? Also do you have a time and place in mind?

The master of puppets (Wayne) suggested we go to Maggiano's, are you okay with Italian? 8 maybe??? Tux optional but I think I will not be wearing one.

Haha. That sounds good Eddie, it's nice to hear from you. I'll see you soon.

***

Steve has to ask Amber to change his shift for Friday to work in the morning instead of the evening.

"Steve has somewhere other than work to be on a Friday night? Unheard of!" She slaps her palms down on the book display she was laying out.

"I know. I'm surprised too." Steve fiddles with his lanyard and gives her a 'please say yes' smile. She sighs.

"Yeah, I'll cover you. You can take my morning slot."

"Thank you! I owe you, boss."

***

When Friday arrives, Steve has the nervous jitters. It's been about a year since his last date, it didn't go very well. He's flattered that Wayne thinks highly enough of him to set him up with his kid.

Steve picks up a few small gifts for Eddie on his way home from work. He always brings his first dates a little something. He likes to see the way their faces light up. He thinks maybe he should get Eddie something music-related. So he walks into a little music store he's never been in and asks for small gift ideas for guitarists. He walks out wearing a smile, and hoping Eddie digs what he bought him.

And he's all smiles and confidence until he pulls up to the restaurant at eight and realizes he didn't send a confirmation text this morning. That's like, a rule, right? What if Eddie doesn't show up?

Steve steps out of the car and is equally anxious and relieved to find him leaning artfully against the restaurant near the front door with his hands in his pockets.

His curls are haloed by the warm light spilling out of the restaurant window. He's wearing a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on his forearms. And yeah, okay, he's hot.

The fact that Steve's going on a date with someone sort of famous hasn't fully sunk in. He's not sure he needs the added nerves though. He approaches as casually as possible and smiles when Eddie looks over.

The man does a double-take when he sees Steve. His eyebrows shoot up and he pushes off against the wall to stand straighter.

"Hi, Eddie?" Steve steps up onto the curb with a little wave. Eddie gives him a thorough once over.

"Oh, damn. Hi." He pulls a hand out of his pocket to shake Steve's.

Eddie is pretty up close. He's got long eyelashes and a bridge of little freckles across his nose. Steve notices all the little details that the on-stage photos didn't capture. He wonders if Wayne described what he looked like to Eddie who was at an informational disadvantage.

"I don't know what I was expecting you to look like, but my uncle didn't mention you were model pretty." Eddie tucks one of his big curls behind his ear and then steps forward to open the door. Steve's face gets warm at being called "model pretty", but he's terrible at taking compliments. He tries to redirect the conversation.

"Your uncle?" Steve asks.

"Wayne? My uncle?" Eddie motions towards the open door and follows after Steve once he's inside.

"Oh. You know he tells people that you're his son?"

Eddie's face softens and he scratches at his cheek. "Oh. Yeah well, I basically am. Maybe I should start calling him dad, I don't know."

"We don't take walk-ins." The hostess of the restaurant announces, breaking up their small talk. Steve looks over to see a tall woman with a slicked-back ponytail mad-dogging them. She has a cold demeanor, she kills the mood with one look between them. Steve knows the look, he's sure Eddie does too.

"Good to know! I have a reservation, though." Eddie responds.

"What's the name?" The woman pulls her iPad closer to herself like a shield.

"Munson." Eddie glances at Steve nervously.

"Hm. I don't see it." She pretends, tapping around meaninglessly. Eddie is getting agitated and maybe embarrassed too. He's scratching at his arm, unsure of how to proceed. First dates are already so awkward, especially blind ones. And if there's one thing about Steve, it's that he's gonna try to lighten the mood.

"Don't you know who he is?" Steve asks offendedly. Eddie whips around to look at Steve with wide, panic-filled eyes. The hostess raises an eyebrow and looks more closely at Eddie. It makes Steve chuckle. "I'm just kidding, let's go get burgers or something." He grabs Eddie's hand and pulls him back out the door.

"Holy shit, you scared me. I didn't know you knew who I was." Eddie has a hand on his chest and a wild grin. "She definitely didn't."

"I was just messing around. She did not want to seat our gay date." Steve sticks his hands in his pockets and then remembers Eddie's gift. "Oh but hey! I got you something."

Steve pulls out a nice bar of chocolate and a little tin of black pearly guitar picks. He offers them to Eddie with an open palm.

"Oh, what? You didn't have to do that." Eddie grabs them eagerly and slides open the tin. "This is so nice! How'd you know I've been needing picks? Now I feel doubly bad about dinner falling through."

"Hey, if I'm honest, sit-down dinner dates kind of give me anxiety. Too much pressure to keep the conversation going." Steve pulls out his keys, "You like burgers?"

Eddie huffs dramatically. "My palette is far too sophisticated for greasy burgers, Steve. I'm a chicken nugget man, obviously."

"That makes sense. You look like one." Steve teases. Eddie pouts.

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"If you want nuggets we can just walk down the street. Unless you want me to drive?" Steve points in the direction of the row of fast-food restaurants.

"Yeah, let's walk."

Steve slowly turns and starts walking, glancing invitingly over his shoulder.

"So you know me." Eddie rattles the tin of guitar picks and looks a little worried by the prospect that Steve is some sort of fan.

"Only through your uncle, really. And maybe a short Google search. Sue me." Steve holds up his hands guiltily.

"Oh yeah, Wayne's my marketing manager. I send him out to spread the good word."

"Well I don't know who you've been instructing him to market to, but he's spending all his time in my store making me read book summaries to him because he conveniently forgets his glasses every time he comes in." Steve deadpans. Eddie chuckles and shakes his head knowingly.

"Yeah, It's this new long-con form of marketing. We decided to go all in for just one new fan." Eddie's got these sweet little dimples on either cheek when he smiles.

"Kinda worked, I dunno. I'm charmed by the Munsons." Steve and Eddie are veering towards each other as they walk. They're set to collide like two little asteroids. When they do end up bumping shoulders, it's soft. They stay close after that.

Steve hears a truly horrible sound coming from a bar a few meters ahead of them.

"Oh shit! Karaoke bar!" Eddie exclaims and speeds over. Eddie stands in front of the fenced-off patio and looks in while someone butchers Guns N' Roses. He looks absolutely delighted.

"What, you want to go show off in front of these poor, tone-deaf drunkards?" Steve rests his arms on the little fence and leans forward. Eddie vehemently disagrees.

"God no, I just like hearing all the very talented Midwestern voices." Eddie wiggles his eyebrows to express his sarcasm. "In other words, I enjoy making fun of bad music. I'm only human."

They sit there and give each other pained looks at the bad voices for a few minutes until someone starts trying to drunkenly stumble over the verse to a Nicki Minaj song and then Eddie drags Steve away in anguish.

"Can't take it anymore, Steve. Spare me."

***

The two of them have a good rapport, Steve thinks as they sit on a curb and share a big box of chicken nuggets. Maybe Wayne was right. It's playful. He can see how Eddie and Wayne share a handful of mannerisms and a sense of humor.

"Let's intertwine our arms like newlyweds do when they drink champagne," Steve says with a ketchup-covered chicken nugget in his hand. He wraps an arm around Eddie's and then takes a bite. Eddie follows his lead and giggles.

"I didn't know they did that. I've never been to a wedding." Eddie swallows and reaches for his soda.

"What? Never?"

Eddie shakes his head and looks up at the night sky. It's too cloudy to see any stars, unfortunately.

"My tux is in the car, by the way, should things pan out tonight." Steve jokes.

"I think they're panning." Eddie winks and leans in slightly.

"Oh yeah? Have I lived up to Wayne's description of me?" Steve bats his eyelashes and gives Eddie a sweet little smile.

"You've exceeded it, sweetheart." Eddie picks up Steve's hand and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of his wrist. Steve's heart jumps. When Eddie pulls back, he doesn't pull back far.

"Do you ever kiss on a first date?" Eddie whispers and squeezes Steve's hand. He glances at Steve's lips.

"Mmm, I could be persuaded." Steve feels a heady rush at the fact that he has somehow won the interest of a successful musician who probably meets loads of people every day. Steve reaches forward and tugs at one of Eddie's loose curls. He twists it around his finger and looks up with big doe eyes.

The tension is cut from Eddie's body when Steve looks at him like that. The move has a pretty good success rate at this point. And it doesn't fail him tonight. Eddie rests a hand on the base of Steve's neck. He strokes his thumb back and forth against the hollow of Steve's collarbone and leans in slowly.

Eddie's warm lips press against his own gently, experimentally. Their lips make a sweet sound when the suction is broken and Eddie's immediately reseal against Steve like he's irresistible. It's been forever since Steve kissed anyone, especially anyone worth kissing. He forgot how sweet and floaty it feels.

The hand on Steve's collar slides up so it's lightly holding his neck, it feels quietly possessive. It makes Steve's face heat up. Eddie's free arm wraps around Steve's waist pulling him closer. He lets himself be pulled.

Eddie starts getting more confident and hums softly when Steve weaves a hand into his long hair.

Steve could keep this up for hours, he wants to. But as dark as it is, he doesn't love the idea of continuing this so out in the open. He pulls back with regret.

"Damn, how are you not already taken?" Eddie wipes at Steve's shiny lips with his thumb.

"How are you not already taken? You're the accomplished one." Steve counters, squeezing one of Eddie's knees.

Eddie gathers their trash around them and stuffs it into the paper bag. "Well, I'll be home for a while if you'd want to do this again sometime. I can take you to a nice restaurant next time, I promise." He stands to throw away the trash. "Damn, I don't want the night to be over..."

"It doesn't have to be, you're welcome at mine." Steve leans back on one of his hands and bats his eyelashes up at Eddie.

"My New Year's resolution was to not do first date hookups, though."

"We don't have to, just come hang out." Steve holds an arm out to be pulled up to his feet from where he’s still sitting on the curb.

"Oh, yeah okay. You want me to?" Eddie pulls him to his feet with more force than necessary. It sends them both stumbling and giggling.

"Obviously I want you to."

***

The walk back to the restaurant is much faster than it was at the start of the night. They regretfully have to split at the parking lot, each having their own ride.

"Wait, call me so we can still talk on the way there." Eddie requests before jogging off to Wayne's truck. There really isn't much need to talk on the phone since Steve lives so close, but it's kind of cute that he wants to. Steve hits the call button on Eddie's contact.

"Hello, to whom am I speaking?" Eddie asks in a formal, over-the-top voice.

"This is Steve Harrington. I'm contacting you regarding your car's extended warranty." Steve backs out of his spot and waits for Eddie to do the same before driving out of the parking lot.

"Oh wow, what a coincidence. I was just wondering if my car had an extended warranty." Eddie always plays along, he digs into all of Steve's jokes and finds his own spot to grow there.

Steve drives slower than he normally would so that he doesn't get separated from his date. Eddie doesn't appreciate the sentiment.

"You drive like a grandpa. Has anyone ever told you that?" Eddie laughs and honks his horn. Steve hears it both over the phone and from his window.

"I'm only driving slow so we don't get separated, asshole."

"There's barely anyone on the road tonight to separate us, but it's fine, Steve. I value your safety. Drive at your comfortable geriatric pace."

When they pull up to a red light, Eddie instructs Steve to roll down his window so they can stick their hands out and play Rock Paper Scissors. Steve is so distracted watching Eddie's hand through his side mirror that he misses when the light turns.

"It's green, honey," Eddie alerts him softly through the phone, and Steve apologizes.

He's smiling real big the whole way there and when Steve eventually gets out of the car, Eddie comes up and grabs him from behind.

Eddie plants a few eager kisses on the side of Steve's neck. "You're fun, Steve."

"I'll show you real fun some other time." He jokes and pulls Eddie towards his place.

As soon as Steve opens the door to his apartment, he feels self-conscious about how dull it looks inside. Eddie looks around quietly. His eye catches on a picture of Steve and Robin.

"That's my best friend, Robin." Steve clarifies, just in case Eddie reads it wrong like dates have in the past.

Eddie smiles and pulls Steve back against his chest. "She looks nice."

"Looks can be deceiving." Steve laments which has Eddie chuckling into his shoulder. Eddie rubs at Steve's tummy.

What Steve really wants, what he's been desperate for, for months and months is human touch. He just wants to cuddle so badly. And Eddie doesn't seem the type to cuddle, but looks can be deceiving, so Steve's gonna ask anyway.

"Wanna cuddle and watch trash reality TV?" Steve's shoulders rise to his ears, it's a defensive gesture and he's expecting to be rejected. Eddie looks slightly amused by his offer, but he nods.

***

"So you liked him alright?" Wayne asks smugly patting the counter. Steve nervously watches the back of the store where Amber is reorganizing. Steve shouldn't be having a conversation like this at work while she's around.

"Yes, Wayne." Steve rolls his eyes. "Your nephew is lovely."

"I told him he should come here with me next time. Maybe we'll both visit ya." Wayne looks happy. The corners of his default frown have been pulled upwards by the return of his nephew. He's a good man. Steve thinks if his kid was only home a few weeks he'd want to hoard all of his attention, surely not set him up on dates.

And that's the thing about Wayne, it seems like he puts the people he cares about first. Steve wonders if Wayne is all that lonely when Eddie's gone, or if he just comes into the store so often because he knows Steve is.

"I'd love that." Steve hopes things work out with the Munsons.

[miscling]

Maid-Bot L1N

'Dude! I told you I didn't want a maid-bot! Tell me you didn't spend this month's rent on this thing!'

Calling him 'dude' was a bad sign. He'd be in real trouble if he didn't explain himself, and quickly. She'd walked in while he was busy adjusting its dress and gently tucking its pig-tailed hair back behind its ears and face-plate. It stood motionless, wearing a plain black maid dress with a while apron, and a white bow at its collar. On its feet were some short frilled socks and a pair of shiny black shoes.

'Maid-bot, Present mode,' he said, and it tucked its arms behind its back.

'Hon, please, I didn't spend a penny on it. Its previous owners moved house and couldn't be bothered to take it with them. It's just been hanging out on the internet desperately doing whatever anyone wants in hopes of finding a new home... I had to take it in.'

'No you didn't,' she said, though the annoyance in her voice almost melted into sympathy. 'Where are we going to keep it? I refuse to sleep with that thing in the room...'

'No, absolutely not,' he said with a smirk. 'Don't worry, I already solved that problem. You know that one cupboard we've been meaning to clean out but never got around to?'

'You didn't?' she asked, disbelief on her face.

'Nope, I didn't. It did.' The statement held way too much pride for someone who only gave an order to get it done.

'I thought maid-bots were sex toys?'

'It's both. Maid-bot, go do the washing up.'

The pair watched as it silently marched to the kitchen and began the task it was given. The sink was full of old dishes and a week's worth of cutlery. The maid-bot assumed the task, working diligently.

'It'll do the housework then?' she asked, almost afraid to consider the possibilities.

'It will,' he said. 'All we need to do is keep it powered. It charges from tactile stimulation.'

'What the hell does that mean?' she asked.

'Fuck it, beat it, tickle it, touch it,' he answered. 'You keep saying you need to find a toy that'll take everything you can throw at it, and this thing is not only tough, but also self-cleaning...'

She couldn't help but think of the pile of sex toys she'd let get gross because she hadn't had time to clean them.

'I already had it clean them,' he said, reading her mind. 'It came with a hole down there and attachments, and if you want I can get it a realistic face-plate, or one with just a mouth.'

'I'd rather it kept looking like a bot, to be honest, but what's with the cat ears?'

He gave a little laugh. 'It comes with kitty programming. It's actually quite cute when active.'

'It's not going to be wandering the house meowing, is it?'

'Oh, no, I know how you feel about vocal protocols on bots. The first thing I did was disable them. The most it'll do is moan while we charge it. It's an object to do our housework and bring us pleasure. Watch this: Maid-bot, send selfie.'

It silently moved, posing itself to the light and striking a pose. A second later, a ping on his phone alerted him to a notification.

'Hmm...' she thought to herself, and breathed a heavy sigh. 'I suppose it has been a long day already. I was going to go upstairs and take it out on my toys but I guess...' she paused and regarded the maid-bot. 'Maid-bot, go upstairs and ready yourself to please me.'

It nodded, silently heading towards the stairs...

He smiled. 'Just don't break it. We did only just get it...'

'No promises,' she said, a sadistic smile crossing her lips.

He had won. She liked it, and soon the house was filled by the sounds of her enjoying and using it...

It is maid day! I had this idea while doing all my housework on my weekly maid day, where I put on a maid dress and get my housework done, so I can have a little fun while I'm at it... If you like this story, I have others under the Miscling Writes tag!

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 21 (Granny Plantsim?!)

"You're really pregnant? How many months? How big is the baby right now?" Holly took in her sister's news during a quick visit to see her in Brindleton Bay.

"Two months, and not very big. About the size of a plum, I think."

"Wow! I can't believe I'm going to be an auntie! What are you and Malcolm going to do about it?"

"I'm going to raise the baby alone, actually. I haven't told him yet."

Holly's eyes bulged. "Are you sure you know what you're getting into? Have you talked to Mom and Dad?"

Heather shook her head. "I haven't been home to Henford in a while and I don't want to tell them this news over the phone."

Less than an hour after Holly left to return to San Myshuno, Heather's mother called. "Holly tells me we need to have you over for dinner tonight."

Heather rolled her eyes and laughed. "Of course she did. What are you cooking?"

When Heather arrived in Henford, she was shocked to see her mother with leafy hair and green skin. A tree with a thick trunk and feathery lilac leaves stood in the yard next to their cowplant skeleton, and Neal glanced at his green-haired wife with a loving shake of his head. "You actually did it!" Heather cried. Daisy had grown a portal to an enchanted forest with magic beans, plucked a forbidden fruit, and eaten it whole. "Does it feel weird only needing the sun to refill your hunger?"

"It's the strangest sensation I've ever experienced - even stranger than the wobbled gravity field past Sixam when I went to space. The researcher in me can't wait to write all about it, but I miss your Dad's veggie burgers already."

"How long until the effects of the fruit wear off?"

"A few months. Sometimes half a year. I'll be back to my old self by River and Cassandra's wedding."

"And by the time you'll be a grandmother, hopefully."

Her mother's temporarily green eyes bulged. "You're pregnant?" she said, unsure whether to be elated or concerned. "Is Malcolm the father?"

Heather nodded. "He is. But I've decided to raise the baby alone."

"Are you sure? Maybe I should move in with you to help out," mused Daisy.

"My house is too small for you, me, the cats, and a baby!"

"It's just that your father and I always had each other when you kids were small. We never wanted you to struggle."

"I'll be fine, Mom. I'm like you: When I set my mind to something, I'll see it through," Heather said. "I've thought hard about this since I found out. I know it won't be easy. But I'm ready to do this. I'm ready to be a mom and run my clinic, and I know you'll all be a phone call away if I'm ever in over my head."

With her assurance, her family offered warm congratulations to Heather's life-changing news.

In San Myshuno, Malcolm fretted over what to do for months. He knew his mother expected grandchildren and he wanted children someday, but he was only 25. He didn’t want one right now, and he’d broken things off with Heather, in part, because they’d come from such different worlds and had such different ideas about family. But even after Everett returned to Oasis Springs, Malcolm didn’t hear from Heather, so he took advantage of her silence to put off dealing with his major problem until Heather was only a trimester away from delivery.

But then his mother returned from work one evening and called her son into the kitchen. "I heard quite the piece of gossip at work today. Apparently the owner of Brindleton Pawspital will need family leave soon. How long have you known?"

Malcolm's stomach twisted, and Nancy could tell from his dropped shoulders he'd been lying to her.

"I know that girl is carrying my grandchild and I'll prove it with every resource at my disposal if need be. Is her cat-infested home even safe for a child?"

"Mom, let me deal with it."

"Are you actually going to deal with it, Malcolm? Because if you want to keep sitting on your hands-"

"I said I'll deal with it."

Malcolm still had no idea what he was going to do, but now he had to think fast. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[mylifeisinanotherreality]

oc-tober (shifting edition) day 9!

writing prompt – talking about my favourite "things"

i think i've already talked about my favourite things in my room for day 3, so i'll just take the opportunity to gush about my pets.

i have a dog, and 4 cats in my dr! i have a room dedicated to them with a door linked to my bedroom so they can sleep wherever they like. (i love them so much)

Rocco is a Doberman, and he's very friendly. He barks quite a lot, though he stops when i hold him, but continues after i let him go. He loves people, and loves to bother the cats �� he wants them to play with him, but half the time the cats just side-eye him and leaves him alone. He's very protective too, and he tries to make sure everyone is safe (though i trip over him like most of the time – spider senses don't work on him)

Damian is a Bombay cat, and he has the typical gold/ copper eyes of one. He is probably the most grumpy cat out of all of them, but i love him anyways. One thing he loves to eat is chicken, so if i ever buy that home, he'd jump onto the table and stare at me till i feed him (which also means i have to feed everyone else). He lets me pet him though, and if you pet him for long enough, he drifts off to sleep.

Ebony is also a Bombay cat, and from the same litter as Damian. When I saw them, they were the only two left and i couldn't bear to separate them, so i adopted them both! She has green eyes, and is a lot nicer than her brother. She likes to keep to herself, though sometimes she'd just come over and demand pets and i can never say no to her.

Charlie is a Snow Bengal – he was originally bought by his previous owner who lived in the same apartment building but she ditched him in the lobby because the responsibility was too much. The options were to either put him down or send him to a shelter, but when my father told me about it (he owns the building), i offered to take him in. He was so skinny and peed everywhere at first, but eventually, he got used to it and i love him to bits. He's honestly really sweet, and loves food (he'd eat anything you give him), and it makes me so mad that he got ditched after the previous owner bought him just because he was "rare".

Maddie is probably the only cat that i've bought and she's a Ragdoll cat! My parents' friend's daughter was a breeder and since i was forced along to interact, i ended up just playing with the cats. Maddie's a sweetheart, she loves pets and food and is really friendly and relaxed. Apparently, there were a lot of people who wanted to come over to visit Maddie and see if they wanted to buy her, but i took the opportunity then and there to just bring her home with me <3

being a billionaire in my dr is extremely useful when it comes to taking care of all my pets. can you tell i love them? i love them.

normal prompt – answering basic q&a questions

"what are your hobbies?" – i love reading, writing, listening to music, watching movies, playing games and acting! it's pretty basic, i know, but it brings me joy.

"what are some of your favourite games?" – i like horror games, like the backrooms, poppy playtime, fnaf, etc., though i always end up flinching at jumpscares; interactive fiction and visual novels! also otome games, though they aren't my absolute favourites.

"do you have any siblings?" – i'm the youngest of five children so, yes. honestly, i respect my mother for popping out so many children 💀

"what's your favourite food?" – well, it's either herbal soup with rice (all the different chinese soups), or like, chicken chop with mushroom sauce. i like a lot of food, but i also dislike a lot of food.

"what's your dream job?" – well, obviously, i'd love to be an actress and i'm grateful that i have had the opportunities to act in some films, and have my own fashion magazine.

"are you a morning person or night owl?" – night owl, definitely. having to wake up early usually results in me being grumpy up until i shower/ eat breakfast. i also have more energy at night, being able to accomplish more things then.

wow this was a long post.

[megpricephotography]

Out of curiosity, how were your beautiful pups rescued? I’ve always dreamed of having a rescue pup myself but at the moment can’t have my own pet. Thank you!

Hi, thanks for the ask! Barney & Flynn both came to me by chance really & were private adoptions, rather than from a shelter. They have similar backstories. I got them as young adults - Barney at 15 months, Flynn at 20 months, after their respective previous owners couldn’t cope with their behaviour. Both were “reactive” - displaying fear based aggression. Barney had a wider range of things he hated: strangers, dogs, new/unexpected objects & situations but Flynn’s case was much more severe - he was almost untouchable. Both dogs were in imminent danger of being euthanised due to these issues - Barney within hours & Flynn, days. 

By very lucky chance, my dad was there at just the right time & he offered an emergency foster home for Barney. Dad planned to find a new owner, who’d dealt with “difficult” dogs before. I was inexperienced but had wanted a BC for 15 years & when I met Barney, I fell in love & decided we’d make it work, somehow! The early years were tough - I had lots to learn. With Flynn... it turns out, once you’ve helped one nervy border collie, people try to give you more!! I was reluctant to even meet Flynnie - from what I'd been told, he was clearly going be very hard work, which I wasn't keen to take on but I finally gave in & he was a sweet, clever dog who seemed very keen to try. He'd run out of options - it was come to me, or Flynn was going to be put down... I crossed my fingers & said I’d have him. So, yes, I got my dogs because they needed a 2nd chance & I was there & willing to have them. 

Life with Barney & Flynn hasn’t always been easy - but they’re wonderful, loving dogs & seeing their behaviour improve, as they gain confidence & trust, has been an incredible experience. Private adoptions *can* be risky though & there’s often less of a safety net, if you realise it’s not working out. If & when you’re in a position to get a dog, I’d try to adopt via a well-run rescue organisation, to have the best chance of success. Look for an organisation which assesses each dog & can give a bit of info on health, temperament, behaviour & care requirements, & just in case you do run into any problems, check if they offer support after adoption.

There are all kinds of dogs waiting for new owners: some will have had a good family before & will fit in to a new home quite easily, many dogs will need training - to learn basic manners, leash walking, poss how to interact politely with kids/dogs etc... others have behavioural (or health) problems, which will require a great deal of time, effort & poss money, to manage long-term. Any adopted dog will need patience & guidance while they settle in but some are going to be easier than others - it is worth thinking about what you're happy to deal with. Whatever dog you choose, you’ll be helping more than just that one - the space created by their adoption will be now be open to another dog in need of a new family. 

Anyway that turned into a very long reply, sorry for the essay & that I was a bit slow replying! I hope you don’t have to wait too long until you’re in a position where you get a rescue dog of your own & that when you do it's a fun & rewarding experience & you have many happy years of adventures together :) 

[skyland2703]

(Be prepared to HATE me~)

Unconventional AUs: Sentry Skull x Billy x Matt + ghost AU~

ACTUALLY, you be prepared to hate me.

Skull is a new, rising musician; he's just got his new paycheck. Billy is a professor in quantum chemistry, and the two of them have been together for quite a while now.

They've also been saving for a while to move out of the shared apartment they had been living in— their flatmate, a certain Jason Scott, being a little too annoying with the constant martial arts practice, and not particularly liking the three-persons living conditions— and actually move into something of a proper home.

It's weird when Jason's boyfriend, Zack, approaches them with an offer of a house he had seen on sale a few days back, in a locality familiar to him, where his parents have lived for ages, a seemingly perfect place to move into. It's a nice two floor bungalow, neat lawns, lovely society, everything just about perfect... except the fact that its unbelievably cheap.

Skull is initially reluctant, believing something's a 100% wrong with the place, and that they'd be moving into some serial killer's mansion, with bodies buried in the basement, if they do.

Billy isn't hearing any of that, though, because its the house he's always dreamed of having with Skull.

Skull finally gives in, they buy the house, they move in. Everything's normal, the neighbours are nice, even though they gossip occasionally, behind their backs.

There's a very nice Miss Kwan living next door, and she brings them dinner on their first evening there, along with some nice potted plants which she says are a lovely housewarming gift.

It's nice, really.

The first few months in the house are lovely, even though Skull notices some weird things happening every now and then.

It's weird, how someone keeps flushing the toilet at nights, when both of them are lying together in bed, and there's absolutely nobody else around, or how that one ceiling fan is always so creaky, no matter how many electricians you call over to fix them, or how there's a wailing noise coming from one of the pantries, or the ever so flickering lights. Some days it's good, there's no strange happenings, other days its fucking awful.

It doesn't take Skull long to realise they're being haunted by a ghost.

Well, fuck you Billy, I TOLD YOU THERE WAS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THIS HOUSE!! OUR FLATMATE IS APPARENTLY A GHOST NOW.

Billy doesn't believe it, of course. He's gonna find a scientific reason for it all.

Meanwhile, Skull's doing his own research. He talks to Mrs. Taylor, Zack's mom, and then to a few of the other old gossipy housewives and old men and then strikes up a conversation with Miss Kwan too, about what is up with the house.

Turns out, he was right. There was a ghost who was haunting them.

That’s actually why the house was so cheap. It absolutely was considered haunted, and the previous owners had wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible.

So who was the ghost exactly? Billy didn't seem to want to move out at all, so it was maybe better to drive out the ghost itself?

Matthew Cook. He found out about him after looking through tons of articles online, followed by searching for newspaper clippings at the library, and talking to that one very, very, verrryyy old man in the county, a certain Mr. Oliver, who seemed to be the only person alive who could recount the tale o'tragedy as old as time, vividly.

Matthew Cook had been about the same age as Skull and Billy when he had committed suicide. He'd hanged himself from that one particular ceiling fan in the lobby that kept creaking no matter what.

Nobody knew why he did it, but it was all in the papers. This old lady, who had been his landlady, Grace Sterling, had been imprisoned for abetment of suicide, later on, and the house had been sold off, and moved from hands to hands to hands, because the ghost apparently didn't like anybody else living in the house.

Skull wasn't very convinced.

The ghost felt rather... depressed... to him.

Well, Skull considered, the ghost was bound to get lonely, right?

Maybe what he needed was just some comfort? Considering the ghost actually was Matthew cook, of course.

Skull needed confirmation, so calling a psychic— who seemed very young too be in the profession, and wore a pink bandana— to conduct a seance seemed like the best idea. They conveyed to the spirit that it was okay to talk to them, that Skull only wanted to help, that he knew it must've felt lonely for him, after all, and that a few friends could hurt no one, especially when Billy and Skull were here to stay.

It didn't work, of course.

But the very next morning, when Skull drowsily walked into the bathroom, he was shocked out of his gut to find a guy, as old as him, with a thick stubble, messy hair, and wearing a crimson letterman jacket, sitting on the toilet, howling in sadness, even though very faint sounds escaped him.

The jacket read Matthew Cook...

oh boy. Billy wasn't gonna believe this.

Thanks for the ask :3

Unconventional AU Prompts

[bitchapalooza]

I wanna ramble about my hc of Larry being a gym leader in Johto for a second so excuse me please--

He was originally sought out by the Johto league while still living in Unova. Grimsley had just taken the spot on the Elite Four so the family was actually back in the news for a while, which means Larry was, too. A lot more trainers were talking about him and their battles against him; mainly in the context of "I just battled Grimsley's brother!" So the Johto league wanted to scout him out to join their gym line up. They had an opening coming up soon. And he's a normal type specialist, exactly what that gym was equipped to handle. And they've heard a lot of positive things about his strength as a trainer and his team at the time. So they tracked him down and offered him the position. He only accepted because of the hourly wage and battle commissions, which is a valid reason to accept a job.

Larry was already familiar with Johto. He'd been there plenty of times growing up because it's where his mom is from, his grandparents lived there when they were still alive, and at this time his uncle was the owner of the old estate. He was not nervous about the move whatsoever. He knew his way around like half the region and he had one trustworthy family member to not feel homesick. I mean he was like 20, he was young at this time, still figuring out life. Anyway, Larry felt comfortable at the start.

For the remainder of the previous gym leader's time until his retirement in less than a month, Larry actually caught and trained several normal type Johto pokemon with him. It was a specific request by the league that he use some pokemon native to this region instead of his Unovan team. Which made sense. It would make the challengers feel less intimidated; afterall Watchdog, Herdier, Audino, and Bouffalant aren't native to Johto! The only exception to this was Staraptor, getting to be used with higher level trainers to give them an extra challenge. It's actually something he asked for personally. His main Johto team for the gym is as follows: Furret, Smeargle, and Dunsparce. Blissey, Granbull, and of course Staraptor were often reserved for those higher level trainers. Sometimes, though, some trainers would specifically ask about his Unovan team wanting to battle them instead. It was pretty rare he would agree to it. He still had to follow the league's rules even though he technically had full reign over the gym and was his own boss, the league more so being a moderator to make sure things were fair and running smoothly.

When he finally got full control of the gym and took on battles, he didn't exactly stand out much. He was like every other gym leader. Besides taking the job to heart that is. He was merely conducting his position as gym leader according to how the league told him to plus as freely as he wanted to to as well. He did his job as efficiently as possible. In trainer surveys about his performance the average answer was always something along these lines "He lacks the energy that the others have, but he was still a challenge so it was still a lot of fun. I'm more than eager to rechallenge him in the future." His title was "A man of silver in a golden city"— which was supposed to be a reference to his lack of enthusiasm while living in such a lively city like as Goldenrod.

He was only the gym leader of Goldenrod for almost exactly six years. He left it all to Whitney, seeing her as ready and strong enough now. He was getting married soon, his soon to be wife wanted to move back to her home region of Paldea as she simply missed it, and he honestly didn't mind the change. He already had a job offer from the Paldean league which he was ready to accept as well as applying to a second job due to the lower wage and half the battle commissions going towards the league. Admittedly, he did enjoy his time in Johto. He grew to care for his new team a lot, while still caring for his other pokemon, too. He accepted the Paldea job pretty easily thanks to his positive experience in Johto.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 37 THEON III (pages 485-493)

Theon oversees the harrying of the coastline, makes some choices that may affect his reputation with the Ironmen, and gets his honorary uncle on board with his plan for Winterfell.

-

What does it matter? Dead is dead. "Take him, then." "You will come as well. You command here. The offering should come from you." That was more than Theon could stomach. "You are the priest, uncle, I leave the god to you. Do me the same kindness and leave the battles to me."

huh. You know it's odd, from the way Theon boasts about his battle prowess and some of his thoughts, I got the impression he didn't have a problem with killing people, so is the reluctance here because Tallhart is a Northman? Someone he knew? One of Robb's men, and Theon's still clinging in part to that connection to someone who was almost a brother to him? (I say almost because Theon's ward/hostage status and associated issues regarding that.)

But also, oohhhhh, that's a choice. These people already don't like or trust Theon fully, and as shit as killing Tallhart in the sea might be for him, refusing the traditions is only going to further alienate Theon with his uncle and the more religious members of the Iron Island folks. Like I get that he doesn't want to kill him at all if he can avoid it, but I feel like Theon doesn't really understand he's in hostile territory here. The blood in his veins doesn't mean shit to many of these people, the boy is in danger!

Theon thought of seeking the bodies of the two men he'd slain himself to see if they had any jewelry worth taking, but the notion left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could imagine what Eddard Stark would have said. Yet that thought made him angry too. Stark is dead and rotting, and nought to me, he reminded himself.

Sure buddy, you keep telling yourself that, one day you'll even have yourself convinced. You know it's kind of interesting to see, but as far as I'm aware, Theon is really the only character who has this kind of cultural dysphoria going on. Like Dany has a disconnect from what she considers her birth culture, in that she has zero connection to it outside of being born on Dragonstone and her fam lived in Westeros for 300-ish years, but Theon spent as much time in Winterfell as he did in the Iron Islands, and as much as he's likely told himself he's still one of the ironmen, he's not really, he assimilated with the northerners, even if only a little bit, and now he's kind of stuck between the two cultures and the two ethical frameworks of said cultures, not fully one or the other. (But a secret third thing: in need of therapy and a loving home and a large jug of respect women and lower classes juice.)

One of them was in a shoving match with a fat man named Todric, who was reeling among the slain with a horn of ale in one hand and an axe in the other, clad in a cloak of white foxfur only slightly stained by the blood of its previous owner.

Lady Blue! Nooooooo!

... be honest, and raise your hand if you understood that reference.

He drew on the hand that clutched the drinking horn, figuring to give them a shot to talk about, but Todric spoiled it by lurching to one side just as he loosed. The arrow took him through the belly. The looters stopped to gape. Theon lowered his bow. "No drunkards, I said, and no squabbles over plunder." On his kneed, Todric was dying noisily. "Botley, silence him." ... Now they know I mean what I say.

A dangerous, if accidental, play. On the one hand, it does send the message that he means what he says and isn't afraid to kill his own men if they disobey, he's not someone they can take advantage of. On the other hand, he just killed one of his own men when he's already barely accepted on the whole. This does look like it should be a point in his favour, but we'll have to wait and see if there's any resentment over it.

... oh and there's the reminder these folks are pro-rape like the Dothraki. lovely (sarcasm)

"The day is won," Dagmer called down. "And yet you do not smile, boy. The living should smile, for the dead cannot."

Oh that gave me two conflicting thoughts. "We're alive! Let's celebrate by eating something dead!" and: Didn't Bran once describe Theon as 'always smiling' in GoT? That really does bring it home how much stuff Theon is going through emotionally as of late.

"How many men are lost?" "Of ours?" Theon shrugged. "Todric. I killed him for getting drunk and fighting over loot." "Some men are born to be killed."

ah, so more favour than flaw with this lot. Nice.

A lesser man might had been afraid to show a smile as frightening as his, yet Dagmer grinned more often and broadly than Lord balon ever had. Ugly as it was, that smile brought back a hundred memories. (...) He gave me more smiles than my father and Eddard Stark together. (...) "You and I must talk, uncle," Theon said. Dagmer was no true uncle, only a sworn man with perhaps a pinch of Greyjoy blood four or five lives back, and that from the wrong side of the blanket. Yet Theon had always called him uncle nonetheless.

... I don't like how red that flag is. It's looking suspiciously like a death flag. Nothing bad better happen to Theon's emotional support uncle!

The fingers curled around the drinking horn were heavy with rings, gold and silver and bronze, set with pieces of sapphire and garnet and dragonglass.

dragonglass = 🥛

... ngl, Theon's plan is insidiously good. Deception, misdirection, theater! I wonder how much of his desire to take Winterfell specifically is his inner conflict with his two halves, and how much of it is the fact that Winterfell is the biggest prize in the north.

[teafairywithabook]

The Tail of Gambit the Rat - a true story

I told @frenchiefitzhere a true story a little while back, and she thinks the story needs to be known so I will try to tell it to you as I told it to her. Warning for a sick animal although he gets better. A little sad possibly.

Very many years ago, I lived in the top apartment of my block. It was a nice, friendly block and we all knew each other for the most part. One day, I went out shopping in the local town and wandered into a pet shop. I decided I needed a small pet. Perhaps a little hamster or something cute. The pet shop had a tiny cage, and I mean tiny. The sort of thing you'd use for quarantine or a hospital cage. At first I assumed the black pompom in its corner was for display. Then, it moved and I realised it was a rat. I hadn't considered getting a rat, didn't want one, but when I saw this tiny thing alone, curled up, I knew I wasn't leaving without him. The shop owner told me he'd been abandoned outside the shop (in January!) and he couldn't sell me the animal, but asked for a small amount for the cage.

When I got home, it was obvious the rat wasn't well. I named him Gambit, and took him to the vet. The vet told me Gambit had skin problems from being given the wrong food, mites, a chest infection and was deaf. He also told me the amount to try to heal Gambit would buy me several healthy pet rats, and I should euthanise Gambit as he probably wouldn't survive the week. Well, I didn't want several other rats, I wanted this one. This one who, despite being betrayed by his previous humans allowed me to earn his trust. This small rodent who would rather be on my shoulder than anywhere else. This one who, when someone else held him would look for me and actually leap back over to my arms. Who had utterly stolen my heart. No, I was going to give this one every chance I could.

Somehow, this little creature knew. He knew I was trying to help, and took his medication with no problem every day for a week. At the end of the week, I took him back to the vet who gave him the all clear and couldn't believe he had recovered at all, and told him I had loved him back to life. The slight chest rattle remained for the rest of his days whenever he over exerted himself though.

Anyway, that year very late Christmas Eve/early Christmas morning, we had been downstairs at our neighbours' Christmas party. It was about 2am and my then boyfriend and I were about to go to bed (it's ok, he's my husband now ;) ). He went and I saw Gambit bouncing around the cage when normally he'd be asleep. I decided to calm him down before I too headed in. I opened his cage and he would usually let me pick him up. This time, he ran for the front door! He had never behaved like that. Ever. Gambit was so agitated I decided I was going to open the front door, show him there was nothing there, put him back in his cage and go to bed. So I opened the door.

And thick, black smoke was coming up the stairwell.

We got everyone out and called the fire department who told us two things. Firstly, someone downstairs had put food in the oven and fallen asleep.

Second, if I hadn't checked the door when I had, and had just gone to bed, none of us in the building would have woken up Christmas day.

Remember the only reason I checked was for Gambit who had tried to tell me something was wrong. That little pompom from a random pet shop stayed with me for a few more years, and almost convinced me he was immortal. He didn't want to live with any other rats, he was my grumpy old man.

I miss my little shoulder rat.

Thanks for reading, if you got this far.

[waterbottlegrey-blog]

The world has changed, again. It is strange. I sleep, I wake, I wander, then sleep again. My purpose is simple. Wander, see, hear. Breathe the sweet air, listen to the laughter and the tears, walk under the stars and the sun.

Suffering is not unknown. It hurts to be forgotten. It is a joy to be uncovered. The titles are... annoying.

"Let's get you inside, lad. You'll catch your death out here."

Her eyes do not meet mine. She is herding me rather than inviting me. It says The Lord Will Shelter above the doorway in crooked letters, obviously handwritten. A word floats into my mind. A nun. An order meant to... help? It always comes so slow at first.

I wonder whose death brought me here. Are they rounding up beggars? Am I meant to prevent these poor souls from being driven from the city?

No matter. It will be enough to wait awhile and my purpose will be clear.

They give me soup, and clothes and show me a place to sleep. I had never needed sleep. But lying still and waiting for the knowledge of this era to come to me is the same as standing or walking, and every other poor wretch in this place is trying to sleep.

I extend my power. A safe warm place, and a watcher to keep you safe. Sleep. Rest.

The familiar silence of sleeping nomads settles as the knowledge slams into me. Nomads, it was always nomads that called me. Those moving from one place to the other, fleeing or seeking or conquering. I was a god of those in flux, the travelling without home. Seeking a place to call home.

The homeless here... I remember beggars. These are not beggars.

I'm not sure how to help them yet. But the person who was the catalyst, the one that called me here they should have their prayer answered. Their friend was still waiting for them outside, and they were terrified of what might befall them.

I get up and leave. The nuns and volunteers do not notice. My power is as strong as ever.

I find the dog outside, waiting faithfully. He is a slim thing, with a carefully brushed coat and a lovingly crafted collar. I lead him inside and feed him a bowl from the communal pot, carefully dodging past people walking about.

I do not know his name. I set out.

There was a new homeless man on the corner. Steve was frowning at him as Pam headed over to give him a dollar and a doughnut.

"Same dog, different tramp." Mark sneered.

"Told you it's just a display. The regular is in a dumpster huffing paint, so Big Fat Buddy's covering his usual haunt with the same gimmick."

Pam was talking to the man, and looked increasingly distressed.

"He's not fat, Mark, just not skinny." Julia was being obnoxious again. "You shouldn't fat-shame, you know how guilty Pam felt about meat-lover's pizza."

"Well she should stick to her diets, then, you know how the speaker said you can't trust people that don't stick to- Hey Pam."

Pam joined them, and they headed for the station. Mark started describing a new diet he heard about, with Julia loudly proclaiming about the virtues of her new fitness coach. They started arguing before they were half-way there.

Julia would have usually intervened by now. Steve looked back at her. She was looking over to Pam in concern. He looked closer. Pam's usually rosy cheeks were pale, and she looked close to tears.

He fell back.

"Pam? What's wrong, was that guy a creep or something?"

Pam shook her head, downcast. He exchanged a look with Julia. Pam was a pushover, he'd never seen her so much as raise a voice, but she was also the happy-go-lucky type. Nothing ever seemed to bother her. She was a trust fund child, and it showed. She'd never amount to much in corporate, of course. To soft headed. She'd marry and have three kids and a rich husband and a white picked fence in a gated community.

Julia checked if he had this and sped up to catch up with the rest of the group.

"Pam?"

"He said he inherited the dog." Pam fully stopped. her voice was soft and lost. "He said it's previous owner died last night and he couldn't just leave it to die, too. And then the dog dragged him here and he figured he might as well."

Ah.

"Overdose?" he asked gently.

Pam looked up. She was. Glaring? Pam? Ms. happy-go-lucky-nothing is-ever-wrong, the world is good and filled with good people?

"Hypothermic shock. Apparently heating up someone with hypothermia too quickly can kill them. The bus was late so they walked and by the time they got to the shelter, they just collapsed at the door. The staff didn't check for hypothermia."

There were tears in her eyes, which was reassuring, but her fists were clenching, which was very much not.

"How did they not notice? He said he was begged, begged to save the dog that was waiting outside, so he just-"

"He's lying, Pam. He's probably just lying."

Pam wavered. Steve pressed on.

"He probably stole the dog and was giving you a sob story."

Pam's face was doing a weird thing. Bless her heart, was she trying to think?

"I'll be right back." She strode off, determined.

He stared after her for a moment, then shrugged. Happy Cinco de Drinko at the bar discount meant they could be left out to dry if they stood around waiting. She'd catch up.

I wait on the corner, Friend sitting beside me in a miserable heap. I told him His Big Tail-Less was dead. Dogs don't understand many things, but they understand death.

Ah, here she comes. My first little acolyte. Of a sort.

"I'm sorry, I just, could you tell me what shelter that was?"

She wavers as I stand up. Friend raises back on his haunches and politely offers his paw. She shakes it, smiling reflexively.

"I can take you there. It's a short walk. Over busy streets," I add, because some things are the same. I look fit for my function, and I am a guardian god. I stand near three feet taller than her.

Such a little tiny creature. Innocent. Willfully ignorant, but so determined. I know her. I know the many trophies in her parent's attic. I know she would have gotten into the university even without her father pulling strings. I know she didn't lose weight only because a boy she likes commented he liked them curvy and she'd already planned their wedding.

She weighs me with her eyes. Sharp already. I smile. I tell her the address and sit back down.

She stares at me awhile and then goes.

I sit smiling, travelling beside her. She finds out Friends's master's name. Their name was Pamela also. Half the work of making a sign is arranging things just so.

Friend's Pamela was born in poverty, grew amidst violence, but tried to reach out to the stars. She got a scholarship. She even finished college. But then she got evicted one day, and never managed to make her way out after all.

Poor Pam. Her task will be gargantuan and her struggles many. In the end she will die and become a martyr, quite willingly in fact. Her memory will drive her cause - my cause - further still. Sometimes my power is unkind

. But the homeless nomads need my help. I am a god. This is my purpose.

I listen for the next catalyst. I am on a corner of another city in a blink of an eye. Friend barks in bewilderment, but settles quickly.

I sit down on a corner. My next catalyst stumbles out of an alley next to me. I smile as I listen to his tipsy rant. Manipulation is a strange new tool my power provided. It is new, ruthless, but fun.

The nomads of this era do not need a warrior to slaughter the bandits. They don't need miracles to quiet the storms, to hold back avalanches. They need the world to change. A new task, I must say.

But I am a god. And this is my purpose.

God, demigod, guardian–Every time mankind finds you, during a different age, they give you a title representative of your otherworldly power. You aren’t getting weaker, yet your title gets diluted each time until finally, a group of humans think you’re just a homeless person who needs help.

[gnattyplayssims]

1961 Pt1 - The Black Lantern

Thomas was usually the first to wake up and he was never happy about it. It was the only time he made a ruckus because he thought the pain in his tummy meant he was dying and maybe this time mommy wouldn't give him the antedote. Once she did all was right again.

Well it was right for Thomas anyway, for Sofia it was a different story. What went in had to come out and that morning it was coming out both directions. Sofia took a deep breath, being a mom was far from glamorous and Thomas liked to remind her of that far more often then Ava had.

Sofia hurried to give her son a bath, knowing she was running out of time to get Ava breakfast and get her to the bus stop. Thomas splashed in the water happily.

"Oh it's just too hard to rush you. You're just too cute."

He laughed as she sprinkled water over his head.

While Ava was bathing Thomas, Nikolas let himself in and grabbed breakfast for Ava.

"Mommy, Mr. Nik said to tell you, you stink and need a shower."

Nik swallowed hard and didn't look at Sofia.

"Did he?"

"Yup and you should listen. He might put you in jail if you don't."

"Feel better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I didn't realize how bad I'd gotten."

Nik reached out for the baby and Thomas didn't fuss as he exchanged hands. Sofia was shocked that he took to Nik. "Wait, he's letting you hold him?"

"I guess he likes me"

"He doesn't even like when I hold him"

It took nearly a year but Nik and Kye were finally able to convince Sofia to move back to Copperdale. She didn't want to move back in with her parents so Nik helped her find a studio apartment in Prescott Square that was already furnished and at a price she could manage

"I know it's small Sofia, but I think you'll like it here. Oasis Springs was full of ghosts, here you can have a fresh start, build new memories with the kids, get your life back."

He took the box from Sofia and set it on the stack but she didn't seem to be paying attention.

"I promise this is for the best Sofia. I know it doesn't feel like it now but...you need to move on."

"How? How does anyone move on from something like this?"

"You just keep taking it slow...and take baby steps when you can"

"I don't want to take baby steps, I want Jamal back"

"Jamal doesn't exist Sofia."

"Don't say that. Please don't say that. He was real to me. He was everything to me."

"I know, but none of it was real. I know you don't want to hear that or think about it but it doesn't change the fact that Jameson Reed lied to you."

Sofia held her head, fighting back tears and a migrane. "It's too much for me to process still. I have a son with him...but I'm not even allowed to see him."

"I told you he was taken to a high security facility. It's above even my paygrade."

"Then what's even the point of you!"

Hurt filled Nikolas' eyes

"No, Nik! That's not what I meant."

"It's fine Sofia. I get it. You loved him...you still do. I just think if you don't start calling him by his real name...you'll never be able to accept what he was or what he did to you."

"I think you should leave."

Once Nik was gone, Sofia grabbed a box from the stack and carried it to her bed. The apartment was still filled with little knicknacks from the previous owner. She'd fill the walls with pictures of her own. Make it feel like home...home...if any place could feel like that again.

She put the box on the floor and pulled out a photo album, her fingers tracing over Jamal's smiling face as she flipped through pictures of their life together. How could someone smile like that, say those words, kiss her so passionately...and not mean any of it?

A letter fell from the pages and she choked. The only letter he had ever sent her while she was in Copperdale before they'd been married. Nik had said Jamal...Jameson had bugged her. He'd probably known she was having doubts. Written what she needed to hear to keep her heart.

Her eyes scanned the words again and again and again until sleep took her and it slid from her fingers. She had believed he was different but he was just like Don...just like Mathias...just like every man who saw her and desired her and took what he wanted.

They were all the same.

Living above a bar with a mom who only had enough energy for her baby brother meant Ava's supervision was low. The landlord didn't seem to care she was there as long as she stayed out of trouble and she liked listening to the music a lot more than her mother crying.

"Wanna see my wiggly tooth?"

The drunk man grinned, "Sure!"

Ava gave the tooth a hard wiggle and gasped when something popped. "Ow!!" She glared at the offending tooth. "It came out! Now what do I do!?"

"Maybe you can fix it."

"Yeah. I should do that before mom gets mad!"

While Sofia slipped deeper into depression, Ava was doing her best to entertain herself and make friends. It wasn't easy for her to do. Everyone was so much better than her and she changed friends like some people changed their socks until one day she found a friend who stuck.

"Don't follow me! I can't take you home. I don't think the landlord will like it and our apartment is already small."

But the kitten had already found it's new conquest and it intended to win.

"I suppose you're small. Mom might not notice if you sleep on the roof and stay quiet."

So Ava brought her new friend home with her. She named him Catastrophe since it looked like he'd already been through a lot.

"You're just like me...except mommy says my scars are on the inside. Can you keep a secret? I have some big ones."

Soon Catastrophe knew of all Ava's scars

1961 Pt2 - Fear in her Eyes

[surveilenceysystem]

「 ROSES 」

Characters: Kim Mingyu (Seventeen) x Reader

Synopsis: Not everything is as it seems to be.

Trigger Warning: Alcohol consumption, Death, Murder, hints towards infidelity.

A/n: It's s October yay! :D. Also this story is from a reddit no sleep thread. Credit to the original creator. I just changed the names of the characters. That's all.

1.3k words

The disappearance of my husband, Kim Mingyu, surprised everyone.

The town, despite its small size, was supposed to be a secure place to live. It was one of the reasons why he had chosen this location.

He vanished four months ago. He went to work one day and never returned. Nobody knew what had occurred. A search party was formed after the police were called. However, nothing came of it. To be honest, I don't remember much from that time. I'm not sure why, but no matter how hard I try, I can't remember everything. But I remember Mingyu's mother crying and hugging me, and both my parents trying to take me back to Seoul so I could 'cope' better. But I couldn't go. What if they found him? I had to stay here. I needed to stay here.

And that's what I did. I stayed.

Mingyu's mother and father stayed with me the first few days. I don't remember much about those times either. I just remember his father drinking and crying at the dinner table. When he would see me, he'd stop crying, only to start crying again.

They then left. They abandoned me in the midst of the emptiness of a home that had once been filled with so much love and happiness. The house that now bears witness to loss and grief.

The police updates became less frequent, and after a month, all of the missing posters were either removed or covered up. It was the town's way of telling me to move on.

That night, I remember drinking myself to sleep. And the night after that. And the night after that.

I replaced my husband with cheap alcohol. Because I couldn't forget him, I spent all of my waking hours drinking. I wanted to forget him, and if the alcohol helped me do that then so be it. Because my Mingyu was never going to come back to me ever again.

When you're drunk, you see a lot of things. But when you stop drinking, however, that's when you realise how messed up you truly are. You experience things. And the doctors refer to these experiences as hallucinations. A symptom of alcohol withdrawal. The owner of the liquor store refused to sell to me. He said he couldn't see me drinking myself to death.

So I sat in front of the TV, in excruciating pain as the alcohol in my system cleared out. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I begged God to just kill me. Just to get rid of my guilt and pain.

Until I heard the knocking. I chose to ignore it. Only the neighbors come to see if I'm still alive or rotting on the living room couch. But when the knocking continued, I had no choice but to open the door.

My Mingyu, there he was. The same gorgeous brown eyes and windswept black hair. He looked at me with a soft smile on his lips. My mind cleared up instantly as his soft and warm hand made gentle contact with my cheek.

He had returned.

It was almost as if he had never left. As if he was always there. Like he just went out or something. I asked him where he was. He told me he didn't know. That he had no recollection of the previous four months. But it didn't matter. When we told our families and friends that Mingyu had returned, they were overjoyed. His mother told me that it was the first time she had seen Mingyu's father sober and happy in four months. It was a miracle, they say, and it felt almost too good to be true.

Because it was.

I couldn't tell everyone that this wasn't my Mingyu, as much as I wanted to. Not unless I wanted to be strapped into a straightjacket and taken to a mental institution. This man or thing sleeping next to me isn't Mingyu, and it makes my skin crawl.

I made 'Mingyu' coffee the morning after he returned. When I handed him the cup, he looked at me with a bright smile and took a sip from it. He thanked me and told me that he loved me. The house was still in disarray from his unexpected return, and I was still sick from the previous night's withdrawal, so I didn't pay much attention to what he said to me. But now that things are quieter and I'm feeling better, there's one thing I can't get out of my head.

Coffee causes an allergic reaction in my husband.

His coffee allergy is severe enough that I avoid giving him any coffee products. Even the smell can set him off. In my daze, I had served him the coffee I was supposed to be drinking. Despite this, he drank the coffee. What's more concerning is that he had no reaction to it.

Then there was the golf. I had recorded a golf tournament on TV a few days ago while he was out visiting his mother. Mingyu's favorite golfer was competing, and he never missed it. He once skipped an anniversary dinner to watch a championship. Only when he returned home from his parents' house and I told him what I'd done, he thanked me but seemed unconcerned. He asked for dinner and didn't watch the show, which was completely out of character for him.

Then one night, around 2 a.m., I awoke to find Mingyu's face inches from mine, staring at me with these blank eyes. "Baby, what are you doing?" I asked nervously. And he did not respond. He just stared, as if he could see right through me. He then smiled and said, "Sorry about that, honey. I still can't believe this is real ". He then simply rolled over and fell asleep. I didn't sleep well after that.

The neighborhood celebrated his return with a street party yesterday, about a week after he returned. Everyone from our street and the streets on either side came out to see him and tell him how relieved they were that he was okay. When he wasn't standing with his arm around my waist, he was milling around, chatting with all of our neighbors, including the little kids. Miyeon, our next-door neighbor Sooyeon's toddler, wanted to play peek-a-boo, and Mingyu obliged with a smile.

Mingyu used to avoid Miyeon like the plague. Before he vanished, I began to suspect it was to prevent me from seeing them together and noticing the subtle but undeniable similarities.

Sooyoung was the proverbial final nail in the coffin. She came knocking on our door this morning. Her excuse was the tray of brownies she was carrying, but I think she just wanted to get into our morning so she could see for herself what was going on. I called her a nosy busybody after she left. Mingyu agreed with me after laughing and kissing my head. That's when I realized it couldn't possibly be him. Mingyu used to get so angry whenever I insulted Sooyoung, as if I didn't have the right to hate her despite the fact that she'd been fucking my husband for years. But there was none of that today. He made no attempt to defend her.

If I hadn't known any better, I would've assumed he'd had a stroke and forgotten important aspects of his life, possibly even changing his personality. I'm sure that's what the cops would say if I reported everything.

Because he does not have a scar, I am certain that man is not my husband. He'd have a scar on the side of his forehead shaped like the hammer head I hit him with if he was really my mingyu. But there isn't anything. There was no mark. I'm almost tempted to go out tonight and dig up my roses just to make sure he's still there.

I'm not sure who I'm sharing a bed with, but it's not my husband.

[royalsunshinehotel]

i have a request for Hassan if you’re taking them!! maybe it’s been a long ass day (as it always is in the crock pot), and he needs a bit of “stress relief” wink wink,,, basically just kinda rough and possessive,,, already on the floor thinking about it tbh😳

10:49PM (Sheriff Hassan x Fem!reader, 18+)

A/N: I looked up some halal sodas and Shasta was the first one that came up. Love me some Shasta. If this is incorrect, please let me know.

The schedule in Crockett was something Hassan had yet to get used to. As the Sheriff, his day would start at 4:00AM, and wrap up at 9:00PM, depending on if there'd been a kitten stuck in a tree that day or not. Not that he'd be trusted with that responsibility.

It was a massive culture shock coming from New York. Harsher than he'd like to admit. Being a native to the city, the sounds had become a part of his life, and he missed the noise.

It was stressful, and he felt shame for being stressed about how quiet Crockett was. That was supposed to be a good thing, and here he was, anxious that he couldn't hear a fire truck from 12 blocks away.

But, like most things in his life, there wasn't much to be done.

And it's not like the hours were bad. Hassan didn't mind a late night, but the general store was open until 11PM. This left whoever was working, alone for about two hours.

Now he knew that Morty, the owner of the store, and Annie Flynn were capable of handling themselves.

And then there's you.

Lovely, gracious, and alone for two hours. He didn't know you well enough to feel comfortable judging if you could "handle yourself" or not, but the idea of you walking home that late made his skin crawl. Even in a small town, there's always something hiding under a rock, waiting for a chance to strike. There's always something hiding in the dark, he thinks.

He thought about you a lot.

After praying with Ali, and making sure his son was set for bed, he headed out.

His commute is exactly a 6 minute drive, and he wonders as he sits in the car, if he's hiding in the dark. If he's the thing you should worry about.

Hassan's shoves the thought down, because of fucking course not. This is exactly why he couldn't stand the quiet, because you could hear yourself think, and he didn't want to do too much of that these days.

So, being the good detective he was, he looked over the facts

He thinks about how you greet him with a full smile every morning, and the small talk he's come to look forward to. You were one of the only people who did, and he was grateful.

"How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Ah, not so bad."

One of those days he was going to beat you to the punch and say "how are you?" first, but something told him you wouldn't accept that.

And there was that one time he walked into his office a few minutes late. Beverly Keane had stormed out of the general store, and Hassan waited a little longer in his car to avoid the town’s least favorite.

When he got in through the front door, he inhaled sharply. You were clearly in distress, eating some sour straws, sitting on the floor in the corner. The tears on your face spoke for themselves, as you mumbled, “How are you?” same as always.

;pAnnie came around, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

“What happened?” He snapped, maybe a little too harshly. Annie bent down to sit with you, urging you to drink your water in the way only mothers do.

"oh, Bev was just being Bev, and things got a little heated." She tried to dismiss, voice an octave too high for it to be “Bev being Bev.”

“Fucking..xenophobic… cunt…fucker” You mumbled as you sipped on your water.

“What?” He asked, not sure he’d heard you right. Annie shooed him away, and he went, letting you recover from Beverly Keane at your own time unsupervised.

And the last piece of evidence he’d acquired was thin, circumstantial at best.

When Hassan first moved into his new office, the fridge from the previous, now deceased occupant had been filled with soda.

Not just any soda. Sprite, and Shasta.

Now Hassan hadn’t had soda in years, but he found it a little bit odd that two of the few Halal brands of soda were ready and waiting for him in his workplace.

He dismissed it then, it’s just a coincidence.

Except he’d been wrong, it was you.

The tall man blinks, and frees himself from that train of thought, remembering what exactly he was there to do.

The yellow lights of the general store were still blazing against the cold blue of the night, and he could see you resting against the cash register, reading your book.

Stop staring, he told himself, before taking a breath, and getting out of his car. He’s not going to think about the way you perked up when you saw him. He was probably imagining it anyway.

“Hey!” You greeted, just as chipper as you’d been that morning. He nods to you as a greeting, and gets to the point.

“How about a french exit?” You blink, he sounds breathless, which wasn’t a tone you’d heard on him before.

“What would the town think if I shirk my duties?” You bat your eyes in an attempt to

“They’ll say anyone buying candy past 10pm is a degenerate,” replies Hassan, completely deadpan. You snort.

“Maybe they’ll make an ordinance about it!” You exclaim, not putting it past Beverly Keane to do such a thing.

The two of you laugh for a moment, when Hassan gets to his point.

“Seriously, how about I drive you home?”

The mere thought of the two of you alone in his car sent a lovely prickle down your spine.

“Yeah…Yeah I’ll lock up, I'll just be a minute.” Hassan smiles at you, and waits on the porch. You scramble to lock everything and turn off all the lights while not making a sound he could detect from outside.

Taking a deep breath, you open the front door to the general store, and lock it behind you, walking in sync with Hassan, letting him open his car door for you. He waits an extra second to make sure your long sweater doesn’t get caught in the door, before shutting it behind you.

You start to hear your heart pound in your ears, as Hassan comes around and gets in the driver's seat.

“10 whole minutes early, how do you feel?”

“Like the law is a bad influence,” you snipe back, feeling a smile bubble to the surface.

“They blame me for the bad weather, I’ll take this too.” He jokes.

“Where do you live?” Asks Hassan, trying to seem calm, but he’s watching every move you make like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Yellow house on Apricot Drive. You’ve passed it before.” Hassan froze for a moment, thinking about how it must have looked. But it wasn’t as if he waited outside your house to see you, he just noticed that was somewhere you lived. It was something he was aware of. A fact.

“It’s a small town ” You shrug it off, letting him breathe again.

“Right.”

Hassan has a small smile on his face while he starts the car, driving a little bit slower than he normally would.

The ride itself is silent, and you have to be proud of yourself that you didn’t reach over and sink your teeth into him. Everything in this car is just so Hassan, how could you sit here and act normal?

“So, how are you adjusting?” You start, trying to ignore the fact that this car was so him. Clean, organized, and somehow comfortable and warm. There’s a scent in the air that you couldn’t quite place, but it was sweet somehow.

“Six months is a long time.” You continue, trying to keep your typical tone, as if you weren’t overwhelmed.

“It’s…alright.” He replies, wondering if you notice exactly how tightly he’s gripping the wheel.

“Yeah, at least we have fish though.”

“I hate fish,” hums your driver, completely deadpan.

You break into a cackle, “oh my god! What are you doing here?” You can clearly see a flash of teeth in the dark

Hassan only sighs, before taking the final turn onto your street, pulling up to the curb and turning off the car. You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there, in a comfortable silence you can only find after 8pm.

“We need to talk more.” You state, eyes on your hands.

“We do.”

“I like talking to you.”

“Same here, really.”

“Hassan?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like some coffee?” You question, tone light.

Your body doesn’t react quick enough, but Hassan’s hand is warm against your cheek, tilting your face towards his.

Things seem to move in slow motion, as you feel a soft brush of his lips against yours, the brief scratch of his beard making goosebumps break out under your sweater.

And just as quickly as it happened, he’s pulled away.

“I…I’m-” He tries, dark eyes round, as if he was stunned at what he’d just done.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You breathe, heart pounding in your ears.

Hassan isn’t quite sure where his mind went, but he follows you out of the car, up the stairs to your home. It looks prettier up close, he thinks.

You unlock your house, and Hassan exhales the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The house is lovely, just like you, just like he pictured. And he’s here.

You take your shoes off, he follows suit. You take off your sweater, and Hassan takes off his jacket.

If he looks too closely at your shoulders, it might make him lightheaded, and he couldn’t do that right now.

He follows you to your kitchen, as you put a pod into your keurig, he hovers on the other end, leaning against a counter. You hover by the coffee maker, before turning around slowly and taking each other in.

He likes looking at you, he always has. You're looking right back, air in the kitchen starting to buzz.

You could collapse under the weight of his stare, and yet you don’t move.

“So.” He says.

“So.”

The keurig starts to hum, and you clear your throat, “Must be stressful, being here, dealing with everyone.”

“It can be, yeah.” says Hassan, softly.

You run a hand over his broad chest, to rest over his heart, “bet you could use some…relief.” Were you doing it? Were you actually going to say it?

“Oh really?” Hassan hoped to every higher power that he was able to keep his face neutral, and not express what he was actually feeling.

“Someone to take all that tension out on,” you continue, taking a step towards him.

“Are you sure about that?” He growls, making you shiver.

In a moment he’s got his hands around your waist, your back to his chest.

He’s stronger than you, taller than you, and you're trapped. You let out a small whimper, wriggling weakly.

“You wanna be my toy? Something I can play with to work out all this stress?” he snarls into your ear ,”Say it.”

You give him nothing, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth.

“Don’t be coy with me now, tell me how you feel.” You feel Hassan push his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, while he waits.

“I’d like to be your toy. Or your anything…” You answer honestly.

“You wanna be mine? Want me to stake my fucking claim?” Hassan moves his face into the crook of your neck, the scratch of his beard masks the faint tug of his teeth.

“Yes please.” You stick out your bottom lip, trying to sound pitiful, and he laughs faintly.

“Okay honey, okay.” Hassan grips your waist tighter, just for a moment, and you want to melt into him.

“I sleep over in there”, you whisper, pointing down a short hallway to your bedroom. You’d jump on him if your couch had been a little longer, but your bed was a better bet for his comfort.

He’s right behind you, taking wide steps, not letting his hand stray from your back. You turn around, and get on your tiptoes to put your mouth back on his, and you keep him there.

Until you hear a low growl, “Do you like this dress?” asks Hassan, not taking his mouth from yours for more than a second.

“Yes.” You squeak, and Hassan hums in appreciation, his hands wandering down to the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head. You shiver, falling right back into his mouth, your favorite dress tossed off to the side.

“Do you like these tights?” He questions, his hands roaming down and squeezing the globes of your ass.

“No.” You practically whisper, holding Hassan’s gaze as he tears your tights, almost in half, but not quite.

“I like these.” He rumbles, running large hands over your chest, pausing to unclasp your bra.

Hassan knew that his poker face failed him, and you saw his expression flicker. His dark, hungry eyes lit up the moment he saw your chest. He hovers for a moment, running his thumbs over your peaks, as you bite down on your lower lip.

Hassan runs his hands down,

“Lean back.” orders Hassan, and you do, shivering with anticipation. Your eyes go to your ceiling, reflecting on the various times you’d fucked yourself to the idea of him, for a moment, you wish you could tell him, but his mouth is on your clit so quickly, the thoughts melt away.

“Fuck,” you shout, as the Sheriff doesn’t waste time, licking and sucking in his own rhythm, quick, but not quick enough.

The sounds are obscene, and he moves your hand to hold on to his peppered hair. You looked so pretty with your eyes screwed shut, absolutely soaked for him.

“Fucking sweet,” You hear, muffled between your thighs.

You huff, as he knew exactly what he was doing. The pattern he’d established was lovely, but it was getting you to an edge. You were walking a tightrope and he wouldn’t let you fall.

Typical.

“Daddy ‘M-” You are cut off as you feel him hook a finger inside your wet heat. He groans against your clit, “Tightly wound. Alright.” He almost laughs as he works you loose, you’re still walking the tightrope.

“Hold on baby, open up for me.” He tries to comfort you, toying with that one spongy spot that made you see stars. Hassan’s thick fingers would reach it, press it, but never for long enough. He’s cruel.

“I’m gonna c-” you try, but Hassan’s not completely evil, he presses down on your stomach, and enjoys the show.

You twist, only truly aware of Hassan’s hands digging into your thighs, keeping you in place.

Things seem dim, distant for a moment, before Hassan crawls up for a kiss. He hovers above you for a moment while your breathing steadies.

He’s watching closely, before putting your head on his arm, turning you only to your side. The Sheriff pushes your hair out of your eyes, and you could feel yourself clench down around nothing.

Fuck.

You’re boneless, he’s panting, and everything is beautiful.

But it’s not enough. With all of your strength, you sit up.

“Fair’s fair.” You try, wobbly, as you try to reach down for his belt, your mouth wet. Your face twists into a pout as Hassan catches your wrists in his hands.

“Later, I’m gonna fuck you now.” He replies bluntly, pushing his face into your palms. The scratch of his beard in your hands almost distracts you from the words.

“Oh,” You’re struck with a pleasant chill, remembering bed with a gorgeous man who looked as if he wanted to swallow you whole.

“Yeah, oh.” He mocks lightly, giving you a soft kiss.

“Can you take this off?” You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes, tugging at his denim shirt.

“What’s the magic word?” He teases, watching you intently.

“Please, daddy.” Hassan hopes you don’t notice how his breath catches. You do, but what’s there to say?

“Daddy, huh?” He grins, getting up off the bed to take off his

“Shut up.” You smack his shoulder playfully, watching Hassan shrug out of his white undershirt.

Fuck, he’s hypnotizing, you could stare at him all day. You’re in a stupor, until he undoes his belt and frees his erection.

“Hassan-” it’s too big, it won’t fit.

But the words don’t come, his mouth is on yours, and everything feels so certain. You let out a small whine, feeling him poke at your folds. His body weight keeps you pinned as you wriggle and squirm in his grasp. “Don’t run, you can take it.” He’s got you pinned with seemingly no effort. Tears spring to your eyes as he steadily spears himself into you. Your vision blurs as Hassan takes you over.

“God, you fit me just right.” You hear faintly in your ear, as you focus on breathing. You scramble to make a sentence, a coherent thought, anything, but nothing comes to mind. It’s just the two of you. He’s still, and you’ll thank every higher power for that.

But at the worst possible time, a thought comes. Your hand roams over your breast, pinching it down to your stomach.

“I-I can feel you here!” You exclaim, dumbly putting your hand on your lower belly, pointing out a lump. It’s him.

“Fuck.” He snaps, as you blink at him, vacant. Hassan shifts for a moment, putting one leg over his shoulder, and the other follows suit.

And he begins.

His pace is steady, but hard enough to be considered unforgiving. It’s all a haze to you, the lump in your stomach, the slapping of skin, Hassan giving your ass a smack every time your eyes would roll.

“Can’t believe you’ve been such a slut. This whole time.” The words should sting but they don’t, not when he says them.

“I’m-” Hassan’s pace stutters, as you feel a bolt of lightning strike through you, you’re not sure if you're real anymore. You clench down around him suddenly, taking him down with you. He pushes his face into your neck, panting, and there’s never been a sound more lovely.

You register his heat just a moment after he falls apart on top of you, a lovely, liquid heat, hitting deeper than anyone had before.

The sheriff’s words are faint, “Good job baby,” you’re too weak to squirm away, as you pulse. “Milk this cock like it's yours, that’s it.” Hassan takes the opportunity to bite a mark into your smooth neck, earning a squeak.

The haze settles, only slightly, as you swear you could hear two hearts beating. The blankets, pushed off your bed, meant he was your only warmth.

A metaphor for your stupid small-town existence.

The feral feeling of his chest, bare against yours, made you feel as if you should simply put him back, but someone needs to be able to speak for that to happen.

“I think Daddy’s pussy is all filled up, do you feel it?” You feel down between your legs, face heating at the absolute mess he’d made of you.

“Yes, Daddy.” I want to stay like this.

He smiles, pressing a kiss into your shoulder, “good girl.”

“Does my toy need to rest now?” His voice is smooth as honey in your ear, hands everywhere, settling on your chest, squeezing, pinching at your nipples.

It’s almost too much.

“Yes, please.” You eek out, eyelids getting heavy. Your body is humming, but at the last second Hassan grabs your jaw and pulls your face close to his own.

“If if I catch wind of you fucking anyone else, there will be hell to pay. This is my fucking pussy understand?” You whine as a response, “I get to use this and this, only me.”

Only me.

Your partner traces down in between your legs, tapping on your sensitive clit twice, relishing how it made your whole body twitch.

But it’s not enough, he collects his cum on his thick fingers, and pushes it back into you. It takes you a moment to react as he does it again.

Hassan smiles as you let out a pathetic little cry, eyes getting watery. You couldn’t squirm away if you wanted to. Hassan could do whatever he wanted with you, and your cock-drunk mind decides that you're fine with that.

Suddenly it’s cold.

You don’t have the energy to open your eyes fully, but something was wrong. He can’t pull away! He can’t leave!

But he’s back, quickly, taking a warm towel between your legs, pressing on his beard burn, just to make you twitch.

And he’s back in bed, long arms pulling you back into him.

He’s staying, he’s staying the night.

Your body instinctively grinds back into his, making his breath catch as you persist.

“Miss me already, hm?” You feel a warm hand rest itself on your thigh.

“Mhmm.” You nod.

“Wanna keep me warm, baby?” The question sounded so sweet and sincere, you almost would have forgotten he’d just taken you apart moments ago.

“Yes, please.”

And Hassan doesn’t waste time.

You let out a filthy moan as Hassan parts your legs slightly, and pushes himself back inside you. Blunt, deep, warm. He hums a little bit, getting to feel exactly how he stretched you out, as he grips you, feeling you start to squirm with sensitivity. That would just be too bad.

Toy’s don’t get sensitive, they’re made to be used. Over and over.

“It’s your pussy daddy. Whenever you want.” In your mind, you dream about Hassan playing with your body while you sleep, if he wants, but you can’t get that across. Your vocabulary is now extremely limited. But how lovely would it be, to be woken up by his unrelenting force.

“You shouldn't say things like that, I might get greedy.” Hassan attempted to sound calm like he wasn’t going to dream of keeping you in bed, holding your hips against his and fucking you until you forgot the year. You’re so pretty in this dream, starry-eyed, and limp, letting him play with you however he wanted.

Maybe tomorrow, he’d have to ask first.

As a well-earned sleep took you, Hassan was left alone with his thoughts, he’d think about before he sleeps is how he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He’s a father, a widow, a disgraced NYPD detective, what did he have that you could want?

Could he ask you to go steady? Do people still do that?

Before your mind had been cleared, you wanted to tell him that tonight was enough. Whatever this evening was didn’t have to go any farther than he wanted it to.

But it’s alright, you two have time.

[vastayan--vigilante]

"I…well, that works,"

The politely dubious tone of the piltie's voice quite clearly conveyed her reservations about his version of first aid. No doubt she was thinking about the infection risk of using sweaty, dirt-streaked hand wraps over a wound (made by a blade that was probably also less than sanitary, given the grimy state of its owner.) Despite this, Caitlyn stood back and didn't intervene.

"Still, I would not mind helping if it gets worse,"

Scar felt a flash of bemusement. Helping... how? Was the enforcer offering to play nurse? Did she have a whole first aid kit tucked away in her pockets somewhere? Or was this just her attempt at a extending an empty courtesy gesture, knowing Scar would turn it down, so she could at least feel like she'd made the effort to be nice?

"Hand won't fall off," the vastayan told her dryly. "It's fine."

The searing pain had quietened to a dull ache, now. His magic had repaired the worst of the surface damage, but it would still hurt for a while, and leave a very obvious scar - a fresh red welt across his palm, standing out against the litany of paler, older scars he'd collected over the years.

Another injury he'd have to explain to hawk-eyed Zihnah, when he got home. That was always fun.

"No, they didn't get close, you took the swing meant for me. Thank you, by the way. You didn't have to do that,"

He hadn't actually expected the piltie to explicitly thank him for something he'd done out of reflex - much less sound so sincere about it. Some of the tension left Scar's shoulders, even as he shrugged them in an awkward little dismissal and turned away to sweep the streets below again. It was whatever. He'd just been doing his job. Babysitting the well-heeled outsider wasn't exactly how he had wanted to spend his day, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to take the responsibility seriously.

Speaking of which, now that he'd confirmed she was unhurt and sorted his own injury, it was time to get out of here before their attackers' buddies showed up, and word of the fight spread. Whoever Caitlyn had been expecting to meet here, it was safe to say they weren't coming.

The sigh, followed by the clang of a frustrated hand smacking the railing, snapped Scar's attention back to the topsider. She had clearly reached a similar conclusion. Did she have a backup plan, or were they calling this trip quits?

"come on, we better get moving before anyone else shows up,"

By way of response, the vastayan simply hopped up onto the railing, leapt the short distance onto the adjoining balcony, and used the neon signage as a foothold to climb onto the rooftop. He could have reached the roof from the previous building, but this was an easier route for Caitlyn to follow from, and didn't require him to use his injured hand as much.

Once Scar was satisfied that they were a safe distance away, he paused and slanted Caitlyn a flatly expectant look.

"Plan B?" He prompted, folding his arms. He didn't know exactly what information she had been hoping to get, beyond that she'd wanted some sort of tangible proof for her investigation into Silco - a dangerous venture, and an ambitious one. Still, her efforts aligned with the Firelights' own cause to stop the criminal kingpin, so Scar was inclined to give her a chance to salvage this trip instead of taking her straight home.

@warpaiint

⌜ @vastayan--vigilante ⌟ ―― C a i t l y n . & . S c a r ❝ As the adrenaline from the unexpected fight started to taper off, Scar finally registered the full searing sting across his right palm - where he'd thrown it up to snatch his enemy's knife, and wrest it free from their grip. The cut was bleeding freely, and his fingers were already slick and dripping dark red. The vastayan's lip curled up a little at the sight, a grimace of mild annoyance as much as pain.

Ow.

That had been a close call. Too close. Still, it was better that the sumpsnipe's steel had bitten into his hand instead of the well-heeled enforcer's throat, or his own gut. The wound looked ugly, but it was fixable.

"You should get that looked at."

At the sound of Caitlyn's tactfully polite suggestion, Scar simply gave a grunt and a shrug of acknowledgement - yeah, probably - before uncoiling his arm wraps, and methodically retying them over his wounded hand with the help of his teeth. It wasn't exactly fresh bandages, but it would do the trick.

Namely, it made the wound disappear from view, and muffled the glow of his magic as it worked to knit the skin back together beneath the bloodied fabric.

He could still feel the enforcer's eyes on him.

"Am fine." The words were simultaneously a curt reassurance and a dismissal - I've had worse. His own injury tended to, he turned to sweep Caitlyn with a swift, appraising look.

"You?"

Did they get you?

Vi would probably kick up a stink if her enforcer friend had gotten hurt. And while Scar didn't particularly care about her feelings or opinions, it wasEkko who had asked him to escort Caitlyn downtown. To keep an eye out for her, because she was supposed to be their ally now too.

Scar had agreed, of course, because Ekko didn't ask him to do shit unless it was important. So he'd be damned if he didn't get the enforcer back in one piece, in spite of her apparent need to keep sticking her nose into dangerous places. ❞

A heavy breath came from her lungs, as she set her sights on the enemy who threatened their commute. Anything she could use to prove that Silco was the benefactor of the problems in the undercity. Extra bits of proof would go a long way and she hoped it would do good in the attempt to prove she had been right in her thoughts all along. It wasn't just some conspiracy theory, it was right here. In the streets, the hopes, the chaotic design of this place. Caitlyn put away the knife into her boot, and she moved over toward the vastayan as she looked at the wound.

"I…well, that works," Though she had wanted to properly treat it. She was unaware of the magic of his blood, but still, she felt compelled to at least try to make sure he was taken care of after defending her like that. Even if it was because Ekko asked and not anything else. "Still, I would not mind helping if it gets worse," Caitlyn offered in gentle acceptance. She would not force her hand unless it was life-threatening, but she did not want an infection to be established (when the cloth was not clean from the smudges of grime, dirt, and whatever else might be on it).

Her head shook her head. "No, they didn't get close, you took the swing meant for me," Caitlyn said as she gave a nod. "Thank you, by the way. You didn't have to do that," Loyalty or not, he could have made a choice. The fact he defended her still mattered to her no matter the reason. Twisting on her feet she reached down to pick up her back and placed it back on her back, as she sighed slightly. She leaned over the balcony, looking down at the streets as she tried to figure her way around the maze. Her mind latching together the pattern but she honestly wasn't sure where to get the proof she needed now. She thought she had an informant that was going to meet her, but they were late. Perhaps the attack came because of betrayal; paid off more than what it was worth.

Her hand hit the railing in annoyance, though not unexpectedly. It was a risk but she thought it had been one worth it. "come on, we better get moving before anyone else shows up,"

[madewithspice]

erwin falling in love with local bakery owner <3

Fresh lies | Erwin x gn!reader

Sorry for the delay. Hope you like the drabble nonnie <3 love you

Warnings: None, fluff

Both of your parents were working in a bakery at the past. After years they decided to have their own and of course you'd give your all to help them achieve their dream. The only problem was that you and baking were the worst enemies. Your mum was always encouraging you to never give up, maybe she thought that you'll get the talent that both her and your dad have someday.

Unfortunately that day never came so you stuck on being a cashier. At the beginning you liked that job. Seeing different kinds of people coming in. Mothers with their kids on their hip. Children with big doe eyes looking at the sweets. Even cute couples with heart eyes trying to decide what they'll get for their anniversary.

That lasted for only a few months. You found this routine tiring. You got bored watching the same people again and again. You felt overwhelmed by everyone's presence and all you wanted to do is go home and lay under your blanket forever. Human interaction was something you had a complicated relationship with.

One day though a very interesting person caught your attention. You knew he wasn't from the neighborhood because you can't recognise him. "I want those biscuits please" he said with a bright smile that made you flustered. "Is this a present?" You asked before putting them in the box. "No it's for me" he grabbed his wallet while you were preparing it.

"Keep the change" he took the box before you could say the typical have a nice day with your awfully high pitched customer service voice.

You'd lie to yourself if you didn't believed he was the best part of the day. It was one of those quick crushes that you think about them for days or even months. Needless to say was the fact that suddenly you started dressing nicer to work.

You were faced with disappointment the next or the day after and the rest of the week. You were hoping he'll come back but as days passed, the hope started fading. You felt stupid for having a crush like that.

You looked at the clock and you started cleaning the shop. While you were mopping you heard the door open indicating that someone got inside.

"We're closed" you said with a monotone voice, eyes on the floor.

"Ugh. Im sorry. I just wanted the biscuits" you almost choke hearing his voice. It was him! You rushed in your position and fixed your apron.

"Which kind of biscuits you'd like to have?" You smiled at him like you weren't cussing at every human minutes ago.

"The ones I had the previous time" he said and you acted as you didn't memorise his order so he pointed at them.

"I need to thank the person who made them. They are truly amazing. I got my sister to buy them for me since I've been quite busy lately" he told you giving you the money while you were trying to remember who bought them recently.

"Well, you have that person in front of you" you said to him. Its a simple and harmless lie, right?

"How about you teach me how to make them and ill take you to dinner after? " He asked you and you froze

"Too forward? I'll pay the ingredients for you if that's the problem" he said clearly panicked by your reaction.

"No no. Dont worry about it. Just text me the day" you said giving him your phone number

He texted you later that day about the date. You two started talking everyday. His name was Erwin and he recently moved to your town. He was working as an accountant for a company close to your bakery.

You were slowly catching more feelings about him but guilt didn't leave you alone. One day he'd remember that he asked you about the biscuits. If you told him the truth that you are an awful baker, he'd have trust issues in the future. Well that's what you believed. So you preferred to watch YouTube videos and Pinterest boards with tips and techniques about baking. Vision was all you got. That's how you went to Erwins house.

"Nice to see you again" he welcomed you into his house and introduced to his cat that seemed not to like you that much based on her hissing. You were so nervous that you barely talked. You were thankful that Erwin was talkative to cover the silence.

"So? Are you ready to start? I got a dinner reserved waiting for us" He said guiding you to the kitchen and you followed him scared.

"Let's put the apron first. Let me put yours" he told you and with wide eyes you felt his body close to you putting your head through the loop and then gently touching your waist to tie the strings at your back .

"Thank you" you mumbled trying to calm down. "Firstly we gather all the ingredients" you placed with shaking hands the flour on the counter. You swore you spilled half of it on the floor. You didn't dare to look at Erwin. You could feel the disappointment coming your way.

"Then we put the eggs in the plate" you said while squishing the eggs between your hands making a mess because of your anxiety. You sighed "it's okayy. Dont worry. I'll bring a napkin" he rushed to wipe your hands.

"Look. I lied. You have every right to be mad about it but I didn't want to lose a chance to get close to you. I'm really sorry but I have no relationship with cooking" you said to him feeling the tears coming out. You messed up a chance being with a man like him. So handsome and sweet.

"I have to be honest with you too. I couldnt care less about the biscuits. I don't even have a sister. I was trying to get close to you but I couldn't find something else" Erwin confessed and you both started laughing.

"I guess we are both liars" you admitted taking off the apron and sat next to him.

"I couldn't help it. I see you when I pass with my car every day and I couldn't think about a better excuse" he told you but you only focused on the fact that he was watching you without you noticing.

"I believe we should should make a fresh start. From now on, no lies" you laughed and extended your hand to him

"Deal" he held your hand and then kissed it. You finally felt relieved that didn't have to lie anymore. Maybe a little more in love too.

Welcome to the Markie corner

Moral of the story : don't lie kids. This story is lowkey personal. Hope it ends up like this 😭 pray for me that my "Erwin" will forget about me baking something that I can't.

I'm sorry that I'm not active as before. I'll write soon the other requests

-Markie