#chocolate moulding business ideas

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How to Start a Chocolate Business from Home

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Chocolate is such a thing that everyone likes to eat, and people of all ages from small children to elders eat chocolate. Chocolates come in a variety of flavors, ranging from dark to milk. Chocolates are a part of everyone’s life in all of their wonderful moments.  The chocolate industry remained strong through the recent recession. And the demand for homemade chocolates is on the rise, with…

[scribblesofagoonerr]

first christmas | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: the first part of the flash back to buddy & monkey's first christmas.

double the trouble masterlist

“Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful,” Jordan sang the song lyrics aloud as you were forced into a shopping trip with Leah and Jordan, and a 7 month old Buddy, who seemed most fascinated in the lights and decorations draped around the shop, “Since we’ve no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

“I’m bored,” You felt like you’d already voiced your opinion a few times, but both the older girls seemed too distracted by the Christmas decorations to notice your disinterest in the shopping experience, “How much longer do we gotta be here for?”

Christmas was known to be a festive time, it was supposed to be filled with magical memories and joyous fun, however for you, the past had always been the complete opposite.

Growing up, all you’ve ever known is a bleak Christmas day in a cold and mould infested house, with numerous beer cans strewn around while the stale smell of cigarettes lingered in the air.

So your version of Christmas? It was nothing but plain hell.

You knew this year would be different though, of course, in your new home. It’s the only topic Leah’s been talking about since the beginning of November, so you’re confident to think that the blonde is definitely planning to go all out this Christmas.

Which led you to where you are currently standing in the Christmas aisle in a busy shop, and you were growing bored, increasingly fast.

“Why are you all mopey, little one?” Jordan was the first to notice your complete disinterest in the Christmas decorations.

What was so special about these decorations, anyways?

“I’m bored. When can we go home?” You complained one more time, darting your interest to something completely different - Lego, bingo. Now that was fun!

“Got something better to do, huh?” Leah teased as she turned to look at you.

You shrugged your shoulders in response, “I got homework to finish, and a game of Fifa I wanna play as well.”

“Since when do you willingly do homework?” Jordan joked, nudging you playfully with a grin.

“Since, uh, now… I’m bored here, can we please go home?” You all but attempted to plead, you were bored out of your brains right now at that very moment.

Jordan chuckled in amusement and gently patted your shoulder, “Just a bit longer, little one.”

You resisted the urge to throw your head back and groan aloud. Why do people actually like to shop? It’s so… dull.

“I think we might need to get a new tree this year, you know? We’re due a new one, and maybe some decorations to go on it–” Leah rambled on, her excitement for the new tradition this year. “Oh, and the baubles! We need to get new ones’ for both the girls this year,” 

“Whatever you want to do love,  it’s fine with me,” Jordan agreed with the blonde before she turned back around to look at you, “Have you decided what type of advent calendar you want this year, little one?”

You arched your brow in confusion, “What’s an advent calendar?”

“Well, it’s a chocolate in a calendar, pretty much… And look, they even have ones’ that are Shrek themed as well! How cools’ that?”

“I… I don’t get it,” You murmured, still confused about the idea of it.

“During the 24 day run up to Christmas from the 1st of the month, you get to open a window each morning with something behind it, normally chocolate,” Leah took over explaining to you,  “If you don’t want chocolate then there’s other options of what you could get?” She suggested.

“Um, I… I do like chocolate,” You were apprehensive to agree, you did kind of want one but you didn’t want Leah and Jordan to go out of their way and buy you one, “But it’s okay, I don’t need one of them. I’ve never had one before, I don’t need one now.” You told them.

You’ve never needed one before, so why do you need one now?

You never understood the tradition of advent calendars. You were never lucky enough– no scratch that, you never even attempted to ask your dad for one, despite how much the other kids at your school would boast about them.

What was so good about one of them anyways?

Jordan, however, seemed very insistent for you to pick one up though, even with your reluctance to disagree, “Little one, you need to have one. It’s a tradition.”

“No, no, I don’t. I’m fine,” You repeated, shaking your head, “I don’t need one of them.”

“But you have to have one, little one. Oh, what about a sweet one instead? You like them, don’t you?” Jordan’s eyes widened in excitement, pointing her index finger in the direction of one designed with sweets, “I’m pretty sure there’s even a crisp one as well!”

“No, it’s okay. I really don’t want one,” You continued to insist on not wanting a calendar, much to Jordan’s continuous insistence that you needed one.

Jordan shook her head at your response, “Nonsense, I’m not having it– I’m getting you one of them,” Without further words, she proceeded to grab the one with the Shrek design on it and tossed it in the shopping trolley in front of her, “You can’t go without one, not on my watch, little one.” She joked, although you couldn’t help but feel bad about you having it though.

It’s something you weren’t entirely used to, you didn’t know how to react when people brought you stuff.

“Le,” You whined, looking at Leah with a somewhat pleading look with a bit of hope that she would jump in and help you out, “Tell her. Please.”

“Jord, calm down a bit love,” Leah told her girlfriend with a soft tone of voice, sharing a knowing look with her, before she turned back to you, “I think Jords’ just excited for you to have one and share this experience, my girl.” She explained gently.

You shook your head in protest against the idea, “I don’t want one, I don’t need one. Save the money, save it for something else!”

“Little one, it’s not going to break the bank,” Jordan snorted in amusement, failing to see that you were beginning to get worked up over it, “It’s just an advent calendar.”

“I don’t deserve one,” Your bottom lip trembled, your hands began to become shaky and you could feel your breath getting rigid.

Jordan furrowed her eyebrow in confusion, “What’re you talking about? Everyone deserves an advent calendar, little one.”

“I don’t. I’m nothing but a menace, I’ve not been doing well at school… I got into a fight with a kid,” You began to stutter your words, feeling yourself getting upset by such a silly little thing.

“Menace or not, you still deserve an advent calendar, and you’re not going to change my mind on the matter, little one,” Jordan continued to insist, not realising how you’d become a lot more stiff about things.

“I don’t… I don’t want one!” You exclaimed, feeling all the emotions inside you get too much, as Leah and Jordan both pause and look at you in concern, “I… I don’t want one!” You repeated, barely louder than a whisper.

Leah seemed to understand straight away as she gestured for Jordan to watch Buddy before she moved to stand in front of you, “Hey, breathe,” She told you in a calm and gentle tone of voice, “It’s okay, you’re okay. How about me and you go stand outside, and get a bit of air, yeah?”

You nodded hesitantly in agreement, “O… Okay.”

“Alright, come on then, my girl,” Leah murmured, gently wrapping her arm around your waist as she guided you out of the busy shop to stand outside, “Just copy me okay? In and out, in and out…”

You followed her instructions and began to slowly feel the overwhelm start to drift.

“Is that better now?” Leah questioned, genuinely concerned as she rested her hand on your shoulder.

“A bit,” You told her quietly in agreement, “I… I’m sorry for having a meltdown in the shop, I didn’t mean to do that. I… I’m sorry for my outburst.”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologise, alright? It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” Leah reassured you, pulling you in towards her as she enveloped her arms around you, “If you really don’t want to have an advent calendar either then that’s okay, I think Jord was just getting a bit excited and she wants you to experience the things that you haven’t before…” She held you close, her hands gently rubbing your back as she whispered soothing reassurances.

“I just… I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” You murmured, your voice muffled against Leah’s coat, “It’s just chocolate.”

“I know, my girl,” Leah replied softly, using her own nickname for you that comforted you the most, “But well, it’s not really about the chocolate, though. It’s more about the memories that we’re going to make instead. It’s about creating new traditions for you, me, Buddy, and Jords as well.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, processing her words that Leah always had a way of making things sound less daunting, like they weren’t as overwhelming as they felt.

“I don’t wanna waste money though,” You mumbled, still hesitant, “You already plan to spend so much on me, and Buddy as well as Christmas decorations…”

Leah pulled back slightly to look at you with her eyes full of understanding, “Listen to me, my girl,” She said with a gentle firmness, “This isn’t about money, alright? It’s about showing you how much you’re loved, and that you are a part of this family. You deserve nice things, just like Buddy does, and you deserve to feel the magic of Christmas, even if it’s new to you.”

“I… I don’t know what to think,” You admitted, as your bottom lip wobbled again, and you ducked your head, hiding your face. 

Leah cupped your cheeks gently, coaxing you to look at her, “I know it’s hard to accept sometimes,” She said, her voice a whisper, “But Jords and I love you so much, and we want to do this for you. Can you let us? Just this once?”

You hesitated, then gave her a small nod in agreement, “Okay, but only if it’s not too expensive,”

“Atta girl,” Leah smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It won’t be. I think that Jords’ might be more excited about the fact there’s a Shrek one for you.” She teased, her tone light and affectionate.

You pouted, “Can we go home now?”

Leah laughed, draping an arm around your shoulder as she steered you back inside, “Patience my girl, patience.”

“Yeah, Le’s still got the rest of the aisle to ogle over,” Jordan joked, catching the tail end of the conversation, and exchanged a quick glance with Leah, checking if you were feeling better.

“Urgh, but it’s so boring! They’re all the same, aren’t they? I’m flippin’ bored!” You groaned dramatically, bouncing back to your chaotic self like you hadn’t just had an outburst ten minutes prior to being back in the shop.

Leah chuckled and took over pushing Buddy in her pushchair again, “We won’t be much longer.”

“Ugh,” You huffed, wandering over to a shelf of toys where your curiosity piqued, “What does this do?”

Jordan turned around to see what you were talking about and smiled in amusement, “Press it and find out.”

“Okay then…” You furrowed her eyebrow in confusion, reaching forward and pressing the button as the music blared aloud, and in the process making you jump half a mile, “Jesus– Oh my God. That was scary!” You exclaimed, holding your hand over your heart.

Jordan burst out laughing at your reaction, while Buddy seemed to find great amusement in the music at least, “Made you jump, huh?” She teased.

“Shut up,” You grumbled, though your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, “Do people actually like these things?”

“So, I take it you don’t want one, then?” Leah teased.

“No!” You were quick to exclaim, “Absolutely not. Not a single chance!” You were dead set against the idea of one, even if Buddy seemed to really like the music.

“Are you sure?” Jordan joked.

“I’m positive. Nope, I definitely don’t want one of them!” You insisted, firm on your decision as you were just relieved it stopped playing the music, much to Buddy’s disappointment instead.

Leah pointed to a display of stockings nearby, her eyes lighting up, “Oh, look at these! How adorable are they?” She was in awe over them as she turned to look in Jordan’s direction, “We have to get them. All four of us can match!”

“They’re cute,” Jordan agreed.

“That’s settled then. We’re getting them,” Leah didn’t hesitate to quickly rummage through and find the correct initials for all of you before placing them in the ever-growing shopping trolley, “What do you want for Christmas this year, my girl? You need to start and think, so you can make your list out for Santa.”

You tilted your head, “Santa?”

“Yeah, you know– the man in red and white who brings you presents,” Jordan explained, throwing her arm around your shoulder and steering you in the direction of more Christmas decorations.

You frowned, “Well the kids’ at school talked about him, but he never visited my house– Does he only visit special houses?”

Leah’s smile faltered briefly, “Uh, I think he might’ve been stuck getting in the house.”

“Oh,” You murmured in realisation, “Well, me and this ‘Santa’ have personal beef then.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leah’s eyes widened and she tried to lean in to Jordan and whisper, “Remind me to hold her back when we take them to visit the grotto,” She was almost certain that you might attempt to try and fight the man.

Jordan snorted, “Noted.”

“I don’t like this Santa fella,” You declared.

“Right then,” Leah began to speak as her gaze softened, “How about you have a think what you would like for Christmas, write it down and then you can give it to one of us instead. How does that sound?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “But I won’t want anything though.”

Jordan frowned, “You have to have presents to open on Christmas day, little one. You can’t not have anything to open.”

“Why? I don’t get it,” Your voice softened, the usual spark dimming as confusion flickered over your face, “It’s never happened before.”

Jordan hesitated, her eyes darting to Leah for help, “Well…because it’s Christmas, and everyone deserves them on this very special day.”

“I… I still don't understand,” You murmured, your voice quieter now, “I’ve never received them before. Why hasn’t he come before? Was I really that bad?”

Leah crouched down in front of you, her gaze steady and full of warmth, “No, Monkey, you weren’t bad. Not even a little bit.”

You frowned, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively, “Then why now? Did I do something to deserve them this year?”

“You don’t need to do something to deserve them, my girl,” Leah reached out, gently taking your hands in hers, “I think Jords’ might’ve worded that a bit wrong.”

“Yeah,” Jordan admitted, stretching the back of her neck awkwardly and unsure what exactly to say next in case she messed up again, “Sorry, little one.”

You looked between them, still uncertain about a lot of things, “Oh.. Okay then.”

Leah’s lips quirked into a playful smile, “It’s just nice to receive them from Santa, you know? This year we’ll leave out milk and cookies for him, maybe even a carrot for Rudolph, and then when you’re asleep, he’ll come and pay a visit. So when we wake up on Christmas morning there’ll be presents waiting under the tree, just for you.”

“Wait… Whos’ Rudolph, and why is he getting a carrot? That’s lame!” You exclaimed, trying to keep up with the different names’ that you’re very unfamiliar with, “Why isn’t he getting cookies? That’s not really fair, is it?”

“Rudolph is one of Santa’s reindeers that helps him fly his sleigh,” Leah chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, “He’ll need a healthy snack as well, he can’t eat cookies like Santa.”

Your brow furrowed as the skepticism creeped in, “This Santa fella sounds like a creep still…”

Jordan laughed and shook her head, “He’s not, little one. He’s just… magical. It's part of the fun.”

You kept your arms crossed, not entirely convinced about things, “Yeah, I’m not convinced much there but whatever you say,” You told them both, “I’m still mad at him for not showing up until now though.”

“This tree is perfect,” Leah beamed a wide smile as she stood there with her hands on her hips as she admired the brand new tree standing in the corner of the living room, “I can’t wait to decorate it!”

“Are you sure that you want to put it up already?” Jordan questioned, raising an eyebrow, “It’s only the middle of November.”

“It’s never too early for Christmas, Jord,” Leah replied confidently.

“Are you sure about that?” Jordan teased, admiring the way that her girlfriend stood there beaming with pride.

“I’m sure! The house is going to look so magical when it’s all done, and it’s going to be great for both of our girls,” Leah turned towards you, her smile softening, “Do you want to help me decorate the tree, my girl?”

You hesitated, shifting awkwardly, “Do I have to?”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but it might be fun,” Leah suggested in a gentle tone of voice, “We can even put your special bauble on there that we brought, can’t we?”

Jordan snorted in amusement from across the room, “Remember how much fun this is when our 7 month old is trying to pull all the lights and baubles off the tree, eh?” She teased.

“Don’t be a Grinch, Jord,” Leah shot back, playfully as she stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend.

You tilted your head curiously, “What’s a Grinch?”

There was a short collective gasp from both Leah and Jord, “He’s only the best character in one of the greatest Christmas films!” Jordan exclaimed, “We can watch it if you want?”

Leah laughed at Jordan’s reaction, “It’s a bit too early for Christmas films, don’t you think?” She teased in response to earlier.

Jordan scoffed, “Oh, really? Says’ the one who wants to put the tree up already!” She pointed a finger at you and Leah dramatically, “We’re watching The Grinch. No arguments. It’s for educational purposes.”

“Whatever you say. Just as long as you don’t complain about me putting the tree up then,” Leah responded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“You can go ahead and put the tree up, me and our girls are going to watch the movie,” Jordan instructed, wasting no time to turn the TV on and sought out the film to watch.

“I think Buddy’s more interested in the lights,” Leah retorted, watching Buddy, who was currently mesmerized by the dangling, twinkling lights draped across the tree as her tiny hands tried to reach out for them, determined to grab them, “No, no. Those aren’t for you to pull on, bubba.” She said, scooping Buddy into her arms before she could cause too much mischief.

Jordan smirked in amusement, “Oh, I give it a week before she’s trying to pull the baubles off the tree.”

“No way,” Leah gently kissed Buddy’s forehead, “Those aren’t for you to pull on, bubba. Mummy’s trying to decorate the tree so it’ll be all pretty. You just like looking at them, don’t you, huh?”

Buddy babbled happily in response, making Leah and Jordan both laugh.

“Let me take her so you can finish the rest of the tree,” Jordan offered, scooping Buddy into her arms and pressing a gentle kiss on top of her forehead, “I don’t blame her for being so mesmerized, you’ve made it look wonderful already, love.”

“Thanks, babe,” Leah murmured, exchanging a gentle kiss on the lips with Jordan, “Monkey,” She called over to you gently as you sat curled up on the sofa with your head buried in your phone, “Are you sure you don’t want to come and help decorate the rest of the tree? There’s still a fair bit to go.”

“Oh, uh, no… no, I’m alright,” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting nervously, “I’d probably just end up messing it up or something.”

Leah moved closer to you, “You won’t mess it up, my girl. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ve never decorated a tree before though,” You admitted, looking down while your voice is barely audible, “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leah’s heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice, she moved to sit beside you and pulled a box of baubles closer, “Everyone has to start somewhere, right? How about this? You take the special baubles we picked out for you and choose a place for them on the tree. You can make it your own.”

“Are you sure?” You continued to look at Leah hesitantly.

Leah smiled warmly, “I’m positive, my girl. Come on, let’s do it together.”

Tentatively, you picked up a shiny bauble with your name etched on it. With Leah by your side, you found a perfect spot on the tree and carefully hung it on the branch, “Is this okay?”

“There we go,” Leah said proudly, stepping back to admire your work, “Hey, that looks amazing. Nice one, my girl!” She said as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you lightly.

"How much longer do we have to wait in this line now?" You grumbled, your impatience getting the better of you as you fidgeted in your spot, "It feels like we've been here forever!"

Another tradition you couldn't fathom was the idea of going to pay a visit to Santa at his grotto, but you were, standing in a line with Leah, Jordan, Buddy and Amanda, who'd decided to join the trip to experience the magical moment of Buddy meeting Santa for the first time.

The line to Santa's grotto stretched endlessly, or at least so it felt like it to you, and you couldn't help but continue to fidget impatiently while standing beside Leah, "Patience, my girl." She reassured you, knowingly.

"This is our Monkey we're talking about. I don't think she has patience," Jordan joked, peering up from looking at her phone, amused by your grumbles.

Amanda gave you an amused smile, bouncing a bundled up Buddy in her arms, "We're almost at the front now, Monkey."

You huffed, glancing ahead at the entrance of the grotto, "Why're they so small?" You speak your mind without a second thought, gesturing to the small people, dressed in bright costumes, bustling around, "Those little people are kinda low-key terrifying." Their cheerful movement only made your expression sour further.

"They're called Elves, Monkey," Jordan said, stifling her laughter.

You squinted, still not entirely convinced, "I don't care what they are called, they're still freaky," You muttered, "Are people actually that small?"

"Monkey!" Leah hissed, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper, though her lip twitched in amusement, "You can't say things like that, don't be rude."

"But I'm not bein' rude, I'm just bein' honest," You argued, gesturing dramatically towards said elves, "They are tiny though, right? Like, freakishly small!"

"Stop it," Leah shot you a warning look.

Amanda cleared her throat, clearly fighting back her own laughter, "So, do you know what you're going to ask Santa for this year, Monkey?" She asked, steering the conversation in another direction, and trying to get some inkling of what you would like.

"Hell nah, there's no way I am tellin' that creep what I want," You told her firmly, crossing your arms your chest, "Amanda! Did you know that he actually sneaks into houses when you're asleep?"

"Yes, I've heard about that," Amanda agreed, her tone teasing as she rocked Buddy, who stared at you with wide eyes.

"It ain't right, is it? It's weird, like dude, I'm sleepin' so g'way!" You exclaimed, your hands flying around in exasperation, "He like sneaks into the house in the middle of the night, and that's just borderline creeper alert!"

Amanda chuckled in amusement, entertained by your antics that she's not seen entirely before considering you're usually more secluded and reluctant to speak around any of Leah's family, "Your big sister certainly is funny, isn't she?" She coos to Buddy, bouncing her lightly in her arms.

"Looks like it's nearly our turn to go in now," Jordan motioned, nodding towards the family ahead of you as they disappeared into the grotto.

"Great," You declared with a newfound determination, your face set in a scowl, "Me an' the fella in red need to have words." You told her, rolling up your sleeves, more than ready to scrap with him.

"Whoa, no, no, no!" Leah was quick to react, grabbing your arms and pulling you back, "I don't think so. Monkey you cannot fight Santa."

You scrunched your face up in confusion, "Why not? He's the one that's left me out every other year until now! Let me 'ave him. I can fight him!"

"No, absolutely not," Leah told you in a firm tone of voice, "I know you might be upset about the past but that still doesn't mean you can try and fight him, alright?  It's definitely not okay to do that."

"But, he forgot me..." You whine in protest.

Leah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose,"Monkey, I'm being serious now. No fighting Santa Clause, do you understand?"

"There's a sentence I bet you never thought you'd say, love," Jordan quipped, amusedly.

"Fine," You grumbled, crossing your arms, "I won't try to fight Santa."

When your turn finally came, Buddy's reaction was immediate and dramatic. As soon as her eyes locked on Santa's jolly face, within seconds she was letting out an ear-piercing wail, burying her face in Amanda's shoulder, clinging onto her like her life depended on it.

"Oh dear," Amanda said, patting Buddy's back, "I didn't expect that reaction."

"Oh bubba," Leah cooed in a gentle tone of voice, "He's not that scary, I promise."

"Here, let me take her," Jordan said, gently scooping Buddy into her arms, "Shh, it's okay, Buddy. It's okay."

"Is it? Cos' I think she might have the right idea," In your defence, you did try and keep your word, however your anger can't be helped, and seeing the man with a joyful expression just made you twitch with rage.

"Don't even think about it, Monkey," Leah warned, sensing your intentions.

Ignoring her, you stepped forward, jabbing a finger in Santa's direction, "Listen, 'ere, mate, yeah?" You began, your tone scolding, "You can't come into me' house while I'm asleep, you creep! But also, since you're taking notes... I like Shrek and LEGO, so, capiche?"

"Oh no," Amanda mumbled, trying to stifle her laughter.

Leah groaned, pulling you back, "That's enough, Menace. Reign it in."

"But I wasn't done yet!" You protested.

"Oh no, we're definitely done. Let's go, out there," Leah declared, steering you toward the exit, "Keep this up and you'll be getting coal in your stocking."

You scrunched your face up in confusion, "What's coal?"

"Never mind," Leah muttered.

"Well at least this trip has been somewhat memorable," Jordan quipped, exiting the grotto with a tearful Buddy in her arms.

Leah exhales a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, "And to think I just wanted a photo of the girls with Santa, is that too much to ask for?" She mumbled, glancing between you and Buddy.

"What's so fun about a walk in the woods? It's freezing outside!" You complained, leaning up against the doorframe of the living room with a scowl etched on your face.

"It'll be fun," Leah chuckled as she finished off wrapping a present, carefully placing it in a gift bag.

You scrunch your face up in disagreement, crossing your arms over your chest, "I'm not convinced."

It was now Christmas Eve, which meant there was yet another tradition - a walk with Leah's entire family. You weren't overly keen on the whole idea of that one though.

"Do I have to come?" You questioned, not thrilled about the idea.

"Yes you do. Stop being grumpy," Leah said, smirking.

"I'm not grumpy, but there's gotta be better things to do than go for a walk in bitter temperatures!" You dramatically huffed, throwing your arms up in the air in protest.

"Okay, now you're being dramatic," Leah teased, "It's not even that cold outside--  Buddy's excited, aren't you, bubba?" She cooed, crouching down to scoop Buddy off her playmat, where she lay there, admiring the twinkling lights.

You glanced at Buddy, who let out some babble you didn't really understand, "Yeah, she sounds like she's thrilled. Besides, she doesn't even have to walk!"

"What's going on?" Jordan asked as she walked in, eyebrows raised.

"Leah's forcing me outside when it's freezing Jord!" You whined in protest, dead set against the idea, "Why do I even have to come?"

Jordan chuckled, "Oh, I'll leave this one up to you to deal with." She joked, gently taking Buddy from Leah to get her ready to go out, "Come on little miss, let's go and get you ready to go out, shall we, hm?"

"Oh thanks babe, I really appreciate the help," Leah murmured sarcastically, shaking her head, "You're part of the family now, Monkey, and it's a tradition of ours."

"But I... I like being warm," You mumbled, keeping your arms crossed over your chest.

"It's not that cold outside, Monkey," Leah said, rolling her eyes as she walked through the hallway to grab her coat off the peg, "You'll like it, I promise."

"It's England, it's always cold, Leah," You complained, still not liking the idea one bit.

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head, "Here, coat and shoes on, please."

"Fine," You huffed, stomping your foot as you reluctantly took your coat from Leah, "But I'm still not happy about this!"

As it turned out, you did end up having some kind of fun at least, with Jacob, Leah's brother and Ben, Leah's cousin.

"Race you there!" Jacob shouted.

"Nah, I'm gonna beat you first!" You yelled, sprinting ahead.

You and Jacob seemed to get on like a house on fire, he was only a couple of years older than you give or take, so it was fun and Ben was like a big kid anyways.

"I'm gonna beat you both, slow pokes!" Ben joined in, grinning as he bolted to catch up with you both.

From behind, Leah and Jordan watched with amused smiles as they walked with the rest of Leah's family, "So much for her not wanting to come then, huh?" Jordan quipped.

"Tell me about it," Leah chuckled, shaking her head as she watched you race ahead of Jacob and Ben, "Be careful, Monkey, or you'll slip--" She trailed off as you skidded slighty but caught yourself, "Yep, she definitely didn't listen to a single word I said then."

"Relax, love," Jordan reassured her girlfriend, clasping her own hand in Leah's, "She'll be fine, she's sensible."

Leah raised an eyebrow, "This is Monkey, we're talking about right? The one who personally tried to fight Santa at the grotto, remember?"

"Yeah... You're right there," Jordan laughed.

"Oh, I heard all about that!" Holly, Leah's cousin, chimed in, clearly amused, "Absolutely hilarious!"

"Oh, don't even remind me," Leah groaned, "It was so embarrassing, honestly."

"But she did seem determined about it, though," Jordan quipped.

Berny smiled warmly, "I have to say it's nice to see her coming out of her shell a bit more now."

"I'm used to her being quiet around here. She's a right little firecracker, isn't she?" Amanda chuckled, noting back to the trip at the grotto, and also hearing about other incidents.

"Oh, she definitely can be," Leah said softly, "It's taken her some time getting used to it, but she's slowly starting to get there."

"I have to admit when you first brought up the idea of bringing a teenager home when you were heavily pregnant, I did have some concerns," David, Leah's dad, who had been quiet until now, piped in.

Amanda hummed in agreement, "I think we all did."

"Same here," Jordan admitted, "But you try going against a hormonal heavily pregnant woman who was determined to do it. I know when to pick my battles." 

Leah shot her a playful glare, but her face softened at Jordan's next words, "I wouldn't have it any other way now with our little family." She said, leaning over and kissing her girlfriend on the cheek.

"Nice save," Leah retorted, smitten by her girlfriend's words.

"She's a great kid, Le. She does seem settled," Holly stated, watching with a fond smile as you ran around with Jacob and Ben, laughing and having fun.

Leah nodded in agreement, smiling, "She is great, and she absolutely adores Buddy as well."

"They are going to be double trouble together," David joked, patting Leah on the shoulder, "I'm telling you when Buddy's old enough to talk, they'll run rings around you both."

"I don't look forward to that," Leah grimaced, her head filled with images of all sorts of chaos you and Buddy would cause, "Thank God there's still time to prepare for that."

"Do you think she's excited for Christmas?" Berny wondered.

"I think so?" Jordan replied, making it sound more like a question than an answer.

"She's never really gotten to properly experience it before, until now," Leah explained to her family, "She was pretty reluctant to even let us buy her an advent calendar this year."

Jordan winced at the memory, "Yeah, that was an experience."

"It's a first Christmas for both of them, you'll just have to make it extra special," Jordan, Leah's cousin, chimed into the conversation.

"And just think this time next year, you'll have your little boy as well," Leah told her with a soft, genuine smile, "Buddy will have a friend then." She added, glancing down at the sleeping 8 month old in her pushchair.

"That's right," Jordan hummed, resting her hands on her own ever-growing baby bump, "I can't wait to meet him."

"It'll fly by before you know it," Amanda told her, "Leah said the same about Buddy, and before we all knew it, she was here." She cooed, crouching down to place a gentle kiss on the top of Buddy's forehead, who was still fast asleep.

"I just don't want Monkey to feel too overwhelmed by it all, and I know our family can be a lot sometimes," Leah admitted, feeling weary about tomorrow and how much it might be for you compared to usual.

"Don't worry, bubba, I'm sure she'll be fine," Amanda reassured Leah, "Don't overthink it so much, alright? Let's just take it one day at a time."

"Yeah, you're right," Leah nodded in agreement.

"Now, I've wrapped both of the girls' presents for you both to take back to your house when you go," Amanda explained to Leah and Jordan, "I thought it was best so you could open tem at home without everyone around."

Leah nodded along, listening to Amanda's explanation, "Thanks, Mum. I'm sure the girls will both love them,"

"I bet Buddy will love the wrapping paper more," David chuckled, peering down at his granddaughter, who's succumbed to sleep.

"I have kept the receipts anyways just in case the clothes aren't the right size, so we exchange them, of course," Amanda added in, weary about the fact that the clothes might not be the right size.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Jordan quipped, shrugging her shoulders, "Oo, speaking of trouble, here she comes!" She motioned to you, racing back towards them.

"I won!" You exclaimed, slightly out of breath as you leaned over, your cheeks were rosy red from the cold, "Did you see? Them two are slow!"

"Oh yeah, totally. You definitely out run them!" Jordan teased, ruffling your hair, "You look freezing, little one. Ready to go and grab a hot chocolate now in the cafe?"

Your eyes lit up at the question and without any hesitation you answered, "Yeah!"

"I've heard that you really like hot chocolate, Monkey?" Holly chimed in, curiously, having heard about your liking for the sweet drink as the whole family headed in the direction of a cosy cafe.

"I do, but it has to have whipped cream and marshmallows, otherwise it's lame," You rambled, your shyness completely going out of the window.

"I tend to make pretty good hot chocolate, if I do say so myself," David declared, keeping his hands stuffed in the pocket of his trousers.

"Oh yeah, Monkey. You'll have to try one of David's special ones that he makes," Amanda piped into the conversation with a knowing smile.

Leah chuckled, "I learnt it from the pro himself. Ain't that right, Dad?"

"Of course, sweetheart," David replied in agreement.

"Really? Can I try one?" You asked, curiously, wanting to try it for yourself to make sure it was really that good.

"Of course you can," David agreed, a fond smile on his lips, "Tell you what, I'll make you one tomorrow. How's that sound?"

"Deal!" You exclaimed.

You all reached the cafe and didn't waste time huddling inside of it, it was mostly quiet, with only a few other people sat down, and the smell of hot chocolate and fresh baked pastries filled the air, enough to make your mouth water.

"Right, you, come on let's go and find a table to sit down at," Jordan gestured you in the direction of a table in the far corner, big enough for the whole family.

"I'll go and order the drinks," Amanda made the decision, looking around everyone, "Hot chocolate, all round?"

"Yeah, please, Mum!" Leah agreed, steering the pushchair in a spot that wouldn't be in the way and Buddy could still sleep peacefully.

"Go on then!" Jacob didn't hesitate to agree, sliding into the empty seat on the other side of you, "Monkey, when you come round tomorrow, we have to play Fifa!"

"You're on!" You declared, nodding in agreement as the two of you just fell into conversation about the game.

A bit later on, you sat there with your warm hot chocolate in your hands while deep in thought. You weren't used to all these people around you and it feels somewhat strange, but also comforting as well.

"What're you thinking about, my girl?" Leah noticed your distant look, looping her free arm around your shoulder and pulling you in towards her.

"It's just, well it's weird, you know?" You mumbled, hesitant to speak your feelings into words.

Leah arched her eyebrow, "What is?"

"Havin' a family, like, a proper family," You admitted, your tone of voice quiet, afraid to say the wrong words to her, "I just... I just, I mean, I've never really had one before, it's always just been me and my dad, and now there's a lot of people around. They've welcomed me in, but they... they don't really know me, do they?"

Leah's expression softened, "They're getting to know you, Monkey, and they all love you," She explained in a gentle tone of voice, "And that's family, for you. You're one of us now, remember? You're a Williamson." She declared.

"Actually, love," Jordan interjected with a grin, "She's a Williamson-Nobbs, remember? Get it right."

leahwilliamsonn posted

liked by katie_mccabe11 and 1,229 others

leahwilliamsonn traditional christmas eve walk & back home ready for santa to pay a vist! 🎅🏼🍪🥛

View all 180 comments

bethmead_ oh i bet they're both so excited! 🥹💗

view 13 replies liked by 73 others

liawalti oh i adore both of them so much! ❤️

view 9 replies liked by 28 others

viviannemiedema 🎅🏼❤️

view 17 replies liked by 43 others

jordannobbs can't wait to see both of their faces tomorrow! 🥹💗

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katie_mccabe11 remember to sleep with one eye open, menace! 😉

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© scribblesofagoonerr

[fatteningmenstories2]

Coached

Chapter 4

Since that night Axel couldn’t think straight, - he just couldn’t get that moment of licking Coach’s fingers clean of cake out of his head especially the feeling that rushed over his body as his cock exploded, leaving it dribbling over his fat all while Coach stood over him watching him. Unlike his normal self, Coach hadn’t uttered much the rest of the night, but even Axel could tell from Coach’s eyes that this night wasn’t going to be a one-time event, instead it was the reward. As with every invisible milestone passed in Coach’s mind a night out in the convertible was earned. However other than that it was like business as usual with Coach’s behaviour barely wavering from before when they were on campus, expect of course in those  brief moments where  his glare lingered as it took in Axel’s plump body. And as 200lbs turned into 210lbs, Axel was oblivious to the slipper slope he was sliding down instead he couldn’t help but be more and more turned by it. He could spend hours in his room trying to get better for Coach, ploughing through doughy doughnuts and emptying fat vats of ice cream, almost cumming on the spot as he remembered the taste of cake on Coach's fingers. The idea of food being sensual was inescapable, the more he fantasised about that night, the more it bled out of his room and into his days, from the feeling of his old favourite t-shirts taut as he stuffed his face high with hotdogs on game days to the hot pizza belghs he let out after finishing family sized portions - they all sent blood straight down to his old tight underwear. But no matter what he tried he couldn’t recreate his nights with Coach, it just wasn’t the same  without the man himself losing over him as he pigged out, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

Axel was oblivious to how his disregard for portion size was widening his appetite, he didn’t notice how he was soon out eating the rest of the wrestling team - Tony included, or giving much thought to his late-night stomach pangs that led him to the fridge. It hadn’t been long till his cravings were becoming a habitual occurrence, lectures were often missed as his one-hour lunch failed to fill him up, pockets would be filled with chocolate to settle his stomach’s grumble as he walked around campus and not to mention the baragement of takeout that would be ordered at night once the canteen had closed its doors for the night. With each passing day, he seemed to be eating more food than the last, no-one on the team even thought about bringing it up, after all no one dared to interrupt Coach’s project after all it was how all of them had been made been made into such ferrous wrestlers. In fact they encouraged it, often passing Axel their leftovers and sometimes even ordering whole new pizzas just to see how much food they could fit into him, and no one was having more fun than Tony. Finally, someone on the team was giving  him some proper competition when it came to food, the pair of the team would often squeeze into Tony's tight ford and hone down the nearest  buffet, each pushing the  other more and more , piling plates high after high until they struggled to even get up. Their room had quickly become an even bigger mess of takeout menus and empty food containers, and would often even  emit a greasy smell as they failed to clean up after themselves - too full to move.

Even Jake was into it it, going as far to even bestow Axel a new nickname of the pebble, which he loved say to whenever he caught  Axel stuffing his face 

“Ah it looks the pebble’s being heavily moulded after the boulder’ he laughed as slapped Axels distended gut “Seems like pretty boys finally became one of us’ he continued to chuckle as he strode of to practice

Had Jake really meant that, Axel’s head was a-spun, was all he needed to become one of them was just  to eat like them, staring in the mirror he saw what he had  meant, his old scrawny running body had been buried under some proper serious mass. Sure he was sporting a couple more spots and his hair was more greasy than ever but he was certainly looking more and more like the rest of the team, oh hell even his body hair had bloomed over just like theirs, sure he was carrying more weight in his midsection but that was nothing Coach’s guidance couldn’t shave off. He imagined after Coach’s regime he would have the muscular manly body  just like Jakes, and  he would finally let put into the ring, being pushed about just like one of the guys. He couldn’t deny though there was one body he was dying to get close to on the ring - when he imagined Jakes powerful body pushing down on him as they fought on the ring, he nearly came on the spot,  But he couldn’t deny that was a long way away, especially with he was certainly carrying more fat than he thought possible, Just like his cravings he wasn’t able to  escape it, clothes were getting tighter and tighter as his belly continued its expansion, it had been after Coach yelled out ‘210lbs’ the other day that he noticed how a little bit of his belly was starting to peek out from under his clothes and was quickly starting to spread to his sides as his love-handles started to thicken out. And as he slapped his puffy pecs (‘moobs’ as Tony called them)  that had grown into a band of fat around his chest he couldn’t even believe he used to have firm pecs, all over his body had changed in ways not possible without Coach, he was wider more square, more of a man.  Especially when it came to his legs, all that running had given him stick legs but now he had proper meatier legs, he was never going to forget the feeling of his thighs rubbing against each other - testament to all the mass he had packed on.  It was like Coach had told him,  to the untrained eye all the extra  mass he was carrying was  just ‘ fat’ but as  Coach had grabbed every roll of fat and told him about all the wrestling potential hidden in them - Axel knew he was right on track, and he wasn’t going to quit now. He didn't care how stairs had discreetly become a chore, leaving him wheezing when he got to a second floor of the gym, or how more sluggish he was when he wasn’t eating,  and he didn’t even pay any attention to looks his old mates gave him when he waddled passed them bee-lined straight to the canteen.

’210’s  nice going Davidson, you right on track’  Coach had told him at his weigh in hours early  before whisking him away  in the night for his reward. He was eager to show of to Coach how much he could eat, but even though he has anticipated it seemed like Coach had planned for this - bringing it more than last time, leaving him panting as he desperately tried to finish all the extra food. And finally when he knew he couldn’t move an extra muscle, Coach swooped in feeding him the last cake slice after slice leaving him bursting just like last time this after all Coach’s suit which he didn’t even finch to. He just  couldn’t explain what got him so turned, had it been  Coach’s imposing strong frame ?, all the food he had stuffed into his sweating body ?or the intimacy he felt as he licked clean Coach’s fingers allowing him to feel  the man he so admired? 

“If you keep going like this Davidson, I don’t think I’m going to be able to control myself’ Coach chuckled as he wiped clean the cum after his suit

What had Coach meant by this ? - what would it take for Coach to lose control, Axel didn’t know but he knew he was no track and couldn’t stop now, no matter the fact he had outgrown the clothers form winter or that some days it seemed to him he was eating more and more just fro the pleasure of it. 

By the time spring break rolled it was obvious that Axel was showing no signs of slowing of his ravenous appetite, and it was evident in the lump of lard Jake saw sprawled out on the couch.  The same Jake who had quickly lost his winter bulk and was now seeing all  the fat he dropped now piled unto Axels body, the same Jake who despite his hatred for laziness was glued to  

Axel's well-fed frame passed out in-front of him. He didn’t know why but he just couldn’t keep his eyes off the lard-ass infant of him, had he wondered if his newfound enticement of Axel had anything to do with the disgust he felt with his local roaster off shags. No matter how he fought it, the sight of Axel in his too-tight clothes, with his pudgy fat squeezing out was just too much, especially when he remembered the pretty boy with abs that cowardly walked into his frat last fall. He thought about it all the time, when he was out making out with guys, he thought of Axel pigging out in the kitchen with Tony, when he was out in the ring he wondered if Axel was out in the stands devouring some hotdogs. Or when he spent the entire day in lectures he was excited to see how much food would be surrounding Axel when he walked though the frat doors, and Axel was certainly not making it easy for him. If Jake could guess Axel was defiantly sleeping through his afternoon class after stuffings  himself at lunch,  a common occurrence as the term drew to its end. Jake  of course knew what Coach was doing to him, he was the only one who remembered how quickly it took Tony to break under Coach’s plan, but Axel was different. He was mesmerising, the way he didn't care how his good looks were being buried slowly in fat, from  how he lost his defined features to fat, to the dimples that covered his overgrowing body and Jake had a first row seat to all if it and he noted it all, even when Axel started to grow out a pathetic beard Jake saw the double chins forming under it. He just couldn’t see how one person can get pack so much fat unto their body in such a short time period, he was a runner for God's sake now the only time he even saw Axel even attempt to run was to lunch. But despite all that, even with the smell of grease, he admitted some days,  Chris couldn’t hide how turned he was by Axel, the way his padded belly raised with every snore now or how his fatty thighs jiggled and settled as he moved in his sleep. Watching him stir now Chris quickly made sure to leave before Axel  could  get a glimpse of cum marks in his sweats, thinking about how much more fat he was going to pack on after spring break.

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[realcube]

BABYSITTING WITH HIM

characters ♡ oikawa, tendou & sakusa

tw ♡ children, cursing & mentions of arson

TŌRU OIKAWA

♡ he is pretty much a professional babysitter, or so he thought

♡ which is why he accepted when you asked if he could help you take care of your nieces/nephews for the weekend

♡ i mean, he takes care of his nephew all the time so how hard could babysitting possibly be? it was basically a free pass to spend the day with you 

♡ however, he began to regret his decision as he sat on your couch and realised that he wouldn’t be able to get even somewhat intimate with you when there was constantly an annoying little boy clinging to his arm, asking him if he had any games on his phone

♡ “sorry, kid.” oikawa smiled, clenching his jaw to hide the rage but it wasn’t very effective, “i’ve not got any games. maybe you could go play with your toys or something.” 

♡ he let out a sigh, making the mistake of thinking that would be the end of their interaction

♡ “can’t you just download some?” the boy retaliated

♡ you snickered, watching as the energy visibly drained from oikawa, yet he still wore his frighteningly bright grin

♡ “i’ve not got any storage.” 

♡ “then delete some of your apps or photos.” the boy said with a shrug, then proceeded to point at oikawa’s home screen, which happened to be a picture of him and you in front of an ethereal sunset, “start with that one. you both look like dorks.”

♡ you and oikawa’s unified gasps of offence were enough to show the boy that he was able to do exactly what he intended; piss y’all off

♡ hence, with a final mischievous snicker, he dashed off

♡ “i hate kids.” oikawa muttered, inspecting his homescreen to see if he really did look like a ‘dork’, “what is his problem?”

♡ “what if our kids turn out like that?” you joked 

♡ his eyes widened momentarily, turning to look at you with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression, “our w--”

♡ “mr kawa!” a cry could be heard from the kitchen so without hesitation, you both hopped to your feet and rushed over there as quick as you could 

♡ once you both reached the area the yell came from, you were fortunately not greeted by anything gruesome 

♡ instead, you both got to behold two children trying to reach the top shelf with the power on friendship; the taller boy was standing on a chair, while the toddler held it still 

♡ however, his grip on the jar of the Nutella must’ve loosened at some point as it now lay dejectedly on the ground, half spilled across the tiles and the other half drenching the toddler, not that they seemed to mind though 

♡ in fact, it looked like they were having the time of their — albeit, short — life

♡ the container was only plastic, hence you didn’t have to worry about shards when you darted over to the poor, chocolate-covered baby and scooped them up into your arms, “are you guys, okay?!”

♡ “yeah.” the boy chuckled, noticing that holding the toddler was transferring the chocolate onto you too

♡ “if you wanted nutella, you could’ve just asked.” oikawa sighed, helping the boy get down safely from the chair before putting the object back at it’s intended spot at the dinner table 

♡ “you could have gotten seriously hurt! i thought you would know better than to do something like this.” you scolded, becoming even more furious as the baby continued to playfully slap your face with their grimy hands, “please don’t do that again.”

♡ before they boy got the chance to do anything besides murmur a vague apology, oikawa interjected, “they won’t get the chance.”

♡ and he was right

♡ after cleaning everything up (including the child, which took forever), you didn’t let either of the rascals out of your sight until your duties as babysitters were complete 

♡ “i think we handled that pretty well.” oikawa mused, gathering his stuff along with you as you both got ready to leave

♡ “yeah, maybe we should do this again sometime.” you suggested, but it was followed by a few second was complete silence

♡ until you both burst out laughing 

♡ “yeah, never again.” you agreed

♡ “the kids can take care of themselves.” oikawa said with shrug, offering his hand to you, before you both strutted out of the disaster house

♡ ever since then, it was a common inside joke between you to, when in the vicinity of a kid causing mayhem or being a nuisance, whisper to each or exchange a look that says, ‘it’s a great day to not be babysitting.’  

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ at first, you thought that asking tendou for help babysitting would be a bad idea bc he is just as hyperactive as the damn kids sometimes so he’d probably not be the best influence 

♡ and you knew this bc one time you happened to run into him while out in the park with the kids and you asked him to watch them for literally a minute so you could run to the bathroom but when you came back all you almost had a heart attack because tendou was teaching them fkn tricks on the monkey bars 

♡ however, you then realised that if the kids were busy committing arson with uncle tendou, then they wouldn’t be bothering you 

♡ so here you are, playing monopoly with your boyfriend, a seven year-old and a one year-old

♡ well, it was less like monopoly and more like debate class since none of you could agree on the rules

♡ “well, uncle ten,” the older sibling began, in a very matter-of-factly tone, “if i burn your property down, then i  don’t have to pay you for landing on it.”

♡ “but then you also go to jail.” you pointed out

♡ “not if the police don’t catch me.”

♡ you burst out laughing, meanwhile tendou kept his business face on, “good point, but watch this.” tendou spoke as he rolled the dice, though no matter what if he got a number between four and seven, he would end up landing on somebody’s property

♡ he got a four

♡ picking up his piece, he moved it across each square individually and once he was due to land on your property, he knocked his piece over

♡ “whoops, i slipped.” he chuckled, though his friendly aura immediately dropped as he looked you dead in the eye and said, “i’m suing.”

♡ “you can’t sue me because you tripped!” you yelled 

♡ “i guess i just fell for you.” he said, resulting in the kids both making gagging noises before he stuck out his hand, “100 monopoly dollars, please.”

♡ “like i said,” you tried your best to stay strong and not laugh at his shitting pickup line, “i’m not giving you any money, you fell!”

♡ “i guess we’ll have to take this matter to court then.” tendou said, tapping the shoulder of the one year-old who was currently chewing on a 500 bill which you quickly had to confiscate 

♡ “judge, do you think (y/n) owes me 100 monopoly dollars for poor health and safety conduct?”

♡ “yes.”

♡ “that is the only word they know how to say!” you cried, begrudgingly handing over the money 

♡ “thank you, angel.” tendou cooed, adding your singular bill to the pile he had already stored up; the winner of the game had already been decided 

♡ and although you and the seven year-old kid both cried later after getting your asses kicked in monopoly (the one year-old cried too but they were just hungry), you all went out to get food and actually had a pretty good time

♡ it became a routine for tendou to help you babysit whenever he got the chance and y’all would always play table top games

♡ also when tendou got accepted into culinary school, he’d teach/show the kids what dishes he has learned to prepare and let them help by stirring the pot, adding spices etc etc

♡ and even when he moved to Paris, on special occasions, a box of chocolates would suddenly appear at the kids’ door and all the little pieces would be shaped and moulded into some of their favourite characters or made out of their favourite flavours 

♡ and at one point the kids even insisted that you teach them how to make chocolates so they can send some back to uncle tendou <33

♡ they weren’t the best, but when tendou received the misshapen, slightly stale chocolates at his apartment, addressed from you and the children, he cried

KIYOOMI SAKUSA

♡ his first response when you asked if he could help you babysit was ofc ‘ew no 🤢’

♡ needless to say it took a lot mansplain manipulate malewifing to convince him to come over 

♡ but once he did, obviously he was in his full protective gear; there was no way in hell he was going to catch whatever germs the little goblins have

♡ honestly he almost sprayed a chid in the face with hand sanitizer when they came running up to him with open arms, trying to give him a hug 

♡ which was unusual because the kids don’t tend to be overly friendly with new people, but you just brushed it off and figured that sakusa must’ve been an exception

♡ during his time babysitting, sakusa spend most of his energy trying to avoid the children at all costs that it basically became a game of tag, with you helping the child try to reach sakusa, and him hiding

♡ but honestly you couldn’t complain since the whole time the child was playing, they were safe with you rather than playing with fire 

♡ until later you were reminded of their odd fondness for sakusa when they insisted that sakusa carry them to their bedroom when it was their nap time

♡ and as you were shifting through the books, looking for a story to read, it hit you why they seemed to be so familiar with sakusa

♡ it’s because he looked exactly like the prince in one of their favourite story books; same hair, both tall and they even had similar moles to each other

♡ upon noticing this, you immediately showed sakusa and was quite amused

♡ in fact, he found it so cute that he gave both you and the toddler a lil’ kiss on the cheek, as a parting gift — mask off and everything

♡ he ended up reading the story and the kid fell into deep slumber by the time he reached the second page

♡ letting out a sigh of relief, sakusa slumped onto the ground, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut for a moment, “what a day.”

♡ you shuffled over to you could lay down beside him, “indeed it was, prince sakusa.”

♡ “shut up.” he teased, poking your rib slightly before absently intertwining his fingers with your own

♡ next thing you knew, you were both awakened by the sound of a grumpy toddler...

[enhyupn]

enhypen helping you bake!

ot7!enhypen x gn!reader

fluff, mentions of food + no other warnings i think of!

word count: 1.2k

a/n i wanted to try and change how i lay these out but i still kinda feel like it’s unnatural for me 🙏

ʚ heeseung

i have no idea why but i feel like heeseung is a tart type of baker

OH and muffins

like specifically strawberry??? or apple tarts??? and blueberry muffins

will only help you with like the mixing

you could be freaking out because something’s burning but heeseung’s like 🧍‍♂️cause he doesn’t know what to do

nevertheless he is VERY helpful

you will always reassure him that

complains when you share with the rest of the enhypen members because he wants them all to himself

will probably beg for you to bake with him again

and you will because you would do anything for him

probably asks if you could decorate the muffins with frosting

you end up trying to explain to him that muffins don’t usually have frosting

but in the end you give up put frosting on them because it looks pretty

“can i help you bake again” “who am i to say no to you?”

rest of the members under the cut!

ʚ jay

you two would probably bake something like pretzels

he thinks it’d be a challenge because he thought the tasty video he watched about it looker hard

jay would 100% do anything you ask him to do

you could ask him to do like three things at once because you were busy and he’d just. Do it

you two take turns kneading the dough because jay said it’d be mean if you just did it yourself

you two also probably end up bickering in the middle of baking

“it says a teaspoon of salt jay” “i have a teaspoon of salt though?” “that’s a tablespoon in your hand”

i feel like jay’s a more savoury person instead of sweet

so he would definitely beg you to make them like rock salt flavour

idk pretzel flavours sadly

you two use rock paper scissors to decide everything

it probably took a while to finish </3 like five hours just for them to be done baking

jay would probably take a lot of pictures and put them up everywhere

by the time you finish cleaning up, you have like twenty notifications from jay tagging you on three different apps

ʚ jake

jake is a cookie person. i don’t care what any of you say he is a Cookie Person.

he is way too excited and giddy about helping you bake

he helps you weigh out the ingredients with like a huge smile

he holds the bowl for you when you mix things </3

he’s a little scared you’re gonna make a mess but it’s still cute

will take pictures of your progress and send them to his enhypen gc

they don’t really care but have no choice to reply cheerily since jake’s excited about it

jake’s the type to playfully throw flour at you to get your attention

you scold him but you think it’s kinda adorable

he makes shapes with the dough and gets confused when it looks completely different when out of the oven

“why does my heart look so ugly”

he just ends up laughing about it for a while

it’s all over his ig and sc story

decorates them specially for the enhypen members as presents <3

ʚ sunghoon

i have no idea why but. he would probably help you bake bread

not anything hard like sourdough probably just some ten minute bread tutorial you found while scrolling through tiktok

he is very confused when you don’t add yeast

like he’ll just constantly be asking where the yeast is

“why is there no yeast” “i’m using baking powder, it’s the same... i think”

he doesn’t understand but it’s okay because you don’t either

he probably makes disgusted noises when you mix the ingredients together

he’s very confused about why you decided to follow a bread recipe from tiktok

“this looks so gross” “i don’t think i asked for your opinion”

he doesn’t even end up helping because he’s too busy being fascinated by your creation

he jokes by telling you that you’re breads burning when they’re in the oven

when it comes out he tells you he’ll never eat it

he ends up eating it, spoiler alert

ʚ sunoo

will instantly help you when you mention you’re baking a cake

i feel like he likes sifting the dry ingredients out

he probably hates the feeling of butter when it gets on his fingers or hands

he likes whipping the egg whites and you probably get anxious because you think he’ll end up over whipping them

he wants to help you with everything. And i Mean everything

thinks you’re gonna spill the batter everywhere when you pour it into the mould

is very. Concerned about if the cake’s gonna burn in the oven

you try and tell him it won’t but he still ends up standing in front of the oven with you

obviously helps you with decorating

let’s you do the frosting because it seems the least fun

will go crazy with the sprinkles

will definitely ask if he can help you again

tells riki about the cake

ends up probably talking about how he helped you bake a cake for the rest of the day

ʚ jungwon

sees you baking something like cheesecake and just joins in

like he probably comes out of nowhere and asks you when he should add the vanilla extract

“when do i put in the—” “oh my god you scared me”

you just let him help you because the more the merrier

you want to stay on trend so you make it mint choco

he hates. Mint chocolate

will definitely fight you about it for a while

“why would you choose mint chocolate? why?” “i didn’t know this was your cheesecake”

he loses because you had a better argument against his

makes side comments when you put them into their moulds probably

you end up just laughing them off because you know he’s just teasing you

he ends up telling his gc if they agree with mint chocolate

he shows you everyone that says no </3

by the time you’ve finished it’s probably late at night

you try once again for him to just at least try it

it doesn’t work

ʚ ni-ki

would ni-ki really be baking with you if it wasn’t bungeoppang 🤨

even though he cooks it everyday he will always!!! help!!! you!!! with!!! it!!!

will whip out the mould thing he has for it

if it burns he will quietly blame it on you because he knows someone’s gonna complain about it

will make so many to show it off to the enhypen members <3

will constantly ask you if you’re okay or if you need help

i feel like he’d be so excited to be cooking bungeoppang that something just goes wrong

the batter would probably spill all over the stove and you two have to clean it up before jay starts scolding the two of you

will eat it as he watched you make more

plates them prettily so he can take videos and pictures to remember the moment

shows them off to everyone

after helping you he definitely mentions you every time he makes bungeoppang

“i remember i helped y/n with—” “we know... we know...”

[bangtanpromptsfics]

pyxis.

dialogue prompt #9: “Cheer up it's Christmas Eve, sweetheart”

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: christmas au, brother's best friend au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 3,412 (oh no)

warnings: reader is a lil sad but nothing angsty tho

summary: christmas was always an eager wait. less for the tree decorations, family dinner and the fuss of toddlers. more for your childhood best friend who you kissed under a mistletoe years back.

a/n: ahhh!!! I'm not completely satisfied with how this turned out to be. the inspiration was from a few christmas themed fics I read here and the movie ‘It's Christmas, Eve’. anyway this was my attempt though it's nowhere near christmas time. one of my personal goals is to celebrate a christmas like the west, the snow, the fuss and the commotion ;-;. Also I lost sense of time and space and this turned out to be 3k ;-;

masterlist

“Cheer up it's christmas eve, sweetheart”, your mother chimes as she pours brown batter into little cupcake moulds.

You simply smile at her, the festive mood not really getting to you because of exhaustion. Uni was tough, and enjoying this Christmas when you know you have tons of essays due in a few days was hammering inside your brain every now and then.

“Is that chocolate?”, you ask, leaning your tired body on the counter where she is at work.

“And orange”, she smiles, turning around to preheat the oven.

“Where's Jin”. Though you hated the routinely flicks against your forehead, the absence of your big brother felt weird.

“He went with Jimin to get the Christmas tree”.

The mention of Jimin brings a smile to your face. His soft features and captivating grin filling your head. If there was one of the few things you enjoyed coming back to your hometown for holidays, it's chocolate cupcakes your mom bakes and Jimin.

His family are friends with yours after all. You, Jin and Jimin attended the same school until college and other priorities in life drift you apart. Though the bond must have rusted a bit, you can't deny the fact that you still have that crush which started somewhere in middle school, on a chritmas eve like this when he kissed your cheeks shyly under the mistletoe. Your friends and family, and even Jimin himself must have seen it nothing more than platonic, but you still find yourself relieving the moment in your head however crazy it may sound.

Standing up straight, you decide to fix your bed hair and complete the skincare routine before the said duo drops.

“Mrs. Y/L/n...”, Jimin softly kicks the back door. He is carrying one end of a huge fir, and your brother on the other end, grunting from the freezing snow outside.

“Oh dear place it right there”, you mother is quick to her feet helping the boys and doing her usual commentary on how well the tree looked.

Jimin looks more handsome than ever, especially with his nose and cheeks dusted in scarlet from the cold. He looks really huggable in his fluffy sweaters and red beanie. Jin is busy commanding around so you choose to sit back, a very typical sibling energy and the size of decoration boxes and the tree itself not really appetizing to your will to find any strength.

“Hey Y/n!”, Jimin stares back at your eyes in a split moment which has your lashes fluttering suddenly. You probably look like you are carrying a disease and right now you become very hyper aware of that.

“You alright? You look tired”, he comments. You feel his eyes carefully studying the black under your eyes and worrying his mind because that's what he is like. He cares about everyone and everything, has a heart so soft it hurts to even think about it.

“Jet lag...”, you say, “I'll be fine”. You shoot a little thumbs up on his way to reassure.

“Why didn't Jin get the tree earlier? It's Christmas in a few hours”, you dodge the focus around you and walk near in an attempt to closely examine the tree for no reason other than feeling Jimin’s eyes a little too long on you.

Your brother gets visibly annoyed seeing you start a very unnecessary talk. So he is completely obliged to shoot back with, “Because you were in charge of Christmas decorations this year but your lazy ass flew down here only yesterday”.

“You know I was busy with Uni!”

“Whatever”, he shrugs, getting back to the box of tree decorations. You feel a little bad seeing yourself not being helpful during a festive season. It felt like you were procrastinating on your responsibilities as always.

“Um...is there any way I can help?”, you ask softly, earning a mischievous grin from Jin and your mom fills in the answer.

“We need more baubles. Also I missed out gifts for Aerum and June, so maybe you can get them”. Now this was already tiring and you were not lying earlier either, the jet lag was still choking you alive. You wonder if the huge pile of stars and glitters beside your foot aren't enough but then maybe it's true because this is the largest fir you ever saw for Christmas in your house. And speaking of the five year old notorious duo, your cousins-- Aerum and June, you have no other option than to step out into the butt numbing cold and get something for the sake of not getting your brains eaten.

While you stand there doing these calculations, Jimin puts a two and two and immediately suggests to tag along with you.

“That'd be great! Thanks sweetie”, your mom chimes, her fine lines of face gathering around her eyes while she does so and you catch her throwing a wink to your side and you pretend you never saw that.

“Thank you Jimin”, you smile in all honesty while he reciprocates the same.

“No problem. I'll get my car. Will you be ready in an hour? I think you just woke up”

“Uh...yeah”, you fake a laugh, “Yes I'll be ready in an hour”

Jimin still lives here in your hometown, attends a community college nearby and his house is just a few steps away from your own. You remember how you had the same analogy in your mind as well. You like living here. You like Jimin’s company. The lake Park and the annual ice skating competition in December and the bookstores and coffee shops at the outskirts of the town. And you can't seem to clearly remember when and where that feeling started to become foreign. Maybe it was a teenage quirk to explore the world that you are now a three hour flight away from all of this. It wasn't a deep regret, but seeing Jimin, it almost felt like it. It felt like you betrayed him. Because he seemed to be keeping his word to this day.

This year, it's a few degrees lower than what it usually is and you find yourself chattering your teeth together as you walk to Jimin’s house.

His footsteps rush to get the door as soon as you ring the doorbell and he greets with the same wide grin as if he hasn't just saw you an hour ago.

“Let's go?”, he asks immediately, getting house keys from his coat pocket and locking the front door before stepping out making you confused.

“There's no one home? Where are your parents?”

“Oh well didn't Mrs. Y/L/n tell you?”, he studies your features and gets his response so he continues “They went to New York this year for Christmas. It's some elder people thing I think...so I'll be spending Christmas this year with your family”

“Really!?”, you chime, and then immediately notice a very childish jump you did with tiny fists and all, feeling a little embarrassed at yourself, “Ah... uh I mean that's great”.

“Yeah”, he giggles, sounding like a twelve year old who is still waiting for his growth spurt, “Get in the car it's freezing in here”.

Since it's been six odd months you've spoken to Jimin, you figured it would would be strange and awkward to be with him, but his demeanor states otherwise. He could effortlessly begin conversations and build momentum with you and by the time you are at a thrift store, he is aware of the little gist of student life and the dramatically exaggerated history research paper still due.

“What are you getting for the twins?”, he asks, seeing you checking out the kids toys section with absolutely no idea and that's exactly what you reply to him.

“How about this puzzle?”, he brings a big jigsaw to your glance and you figure it's a great thing to have their little brains engaged and give yourself time to breathe.

“It's perfect!”, you add, immediately placing it your cart with a few decors you picked up from earlier aisles.

Jimin places an extra pack of Christmas candies in the cart, and you send him a questionable look knowing it's his way of bribing the kids coming this evening. He puts too much effort into people's happiness, something you wish you were capable of as well.

The shopping went smooth. It was therapeutic to get hot chocolate with extra marshmallows afterwards like he insisted followed by that very cliche movie scene where one of them develops a creme moustache and the other notices and dabs it off.

You want this moment to linger a little longer, but your whole family arrives in less than two hours and the decorations were due. If Jin doesn't have you in the next thirty minutes he might as well eat all the cupcakes your mom is baking as revenge.

“I had a great time”, Jimin states as he stops the car in front of your house, stealing the words from your mouth and warmth hugs your cheeks immediately.

“Me too. It's been long since we spent time with each other”

You hear a lone sigh with white fogs coming out of his plump lips while he does so, as if he were suddenly sad when you mentioned that.

“Are you okay?”

His grips tightens around the steering, “I've missed you”, he says, eyes meeting slowly. And as if he was suddenly pulled back to earth he conjures another sentence to not sound so vulnerable.

“I uh... It's just--”

“I've missed you too”

Even with the gear box painstakingly blocking the way, you throw your upper half towards his body anyways and you find him hugging you back. His hugs still feel the same from years back; safe and warm and filled with love.

If it wasn't for the constant reminder that your brother is probably plotting a murder against you, you would've stayed much longer in his embrace. Maybe the hug was a big straightforward for a bond still gradually blooming, but it didn't feel weird at all and when you pull back he is smiling down at you.

“I thought you two lovebirds flew off”, a very annoyed Jin states from above you. He is balancing himself on a chair to attach the mistletoe to the ceiling.

“Sorry hyung”, Jimin says. And somehow now you are getting super aware of the way your family is low key shipping you both. Not that it's an irritating thing of course though you seem to act like it. But you have no idea what's going on with Jimin, what if he said he missed you as your childhood friend? It's a lot difficult to segregate his priority of giving affection. He seems to be giving justice in terms of care for every living being he knows.

“The circus is on its way so I hope you both hurry with putting up everything together”, the voice above states, now lowering himself to ground after putting up the twig.

Three of you giggle at the mention of your family as a circus. Well in a way it definitely was. You have a bunch if uncles who crack awful jokes, a trait Jin himself as picked up from a tender age of ten. Then their wives and kids who share certainly the same braincells in comprehending things. You bet they'll ask you again about your major and your dating history once they walk in through that door amidst clearly stating everytime that you are a history major and yes still very single.

In the hallway there is a half decorated tree. A thread of fairly lights wrapped around the green and very few baubles hanging here and there.

“I'll put up the star and join you”, Jimin says, digging out a golden star from the carton. Though now he doesn't know why it was a good idea for him to announce that when both of you were almost the same height. He is just a few centimeters taller than you and the top of the fir is still very much way above your heads.

So with a chuckle you both figure Jin has to do it.

“This is your final year right?”, Jimin asks stepping closer to you. He seemed nervous about something. Or was it anxious?

“Yeah...you?”

“Yeah...”, his sweet tone was drawn almost like a whisper and you sense you should ask him further about what's wrong. But before you had to deal with a starter he continues,

“Are you planning to work in Chicago as well?”

“Sweetheart help me clean up the kitchen please”, your hear your mom's voice overpowering through the house. Which is good. Because you don't know what you are supposed to answer. It was as if he was almost hopeful that you'll choose your hometown all over again. But you aren't sure. So you take the opportunity to step away from the situation excusing yourself.

And while you are clearing the blobs of batter stuck on the counter, your mind is a haywire. What are you going to do? Though you know your whole family wants you to stay, it's still a foggy place to be in. Four years apart in another city as a college student has not provided much, except caffeine addiction and sleepless nights. Things were not even as fun as everyone told you.

A few steps away Jimin silently prays that you stay, because he had truly missed you. Even though you have outgrown from the eighteen year old shell as he had known, he finds himself actively choosing to be with you. Even when other things in life occupies his mind, there's an element of it which goes back to you.

“They are here!”. You groan silently, while your parents are throwing their hands in air, giggles and chatter fills in as your uncles and aunts and the taunting toddlers welcome themselves in.

“Y/n! You have grown so much!”, the older aunt comments, and you supply a manufactured smile to tag along. Other comments follow by soon, about how tired you are, gasps about not having a partner and future plans, all of which are not completely answerable at the moment but you manage to get through them all and finally excusing yourself back to the garage convincing there are more decor supplies in there.

Families are nice. They make festivals brighter and lives less lonely. But yours was just hard sometimes. Not that you completely loathed the people now fueling themselves off the cup cakes your mom bakes, you were just merely lost, still yet to come up with an answer to what your stance is after graduation.

“Hey...”. Jimin has joined you now which you notice feeling a warmth against your shoulder when he sits, with an extra scraf knowing the garage is still comparatively chilly than the house, “you okay?”.

“Yeah...I was just...thinking”

“Is this about earlier? I'm sorry if I made you anxious”, he quickly adds.

“No!...I mean yeah but, it's high time I find a ground with this. What are your plans?”

“I was thinking about teaching at Jefferson High”, he shifts rather uncomfortably. He is talking of the school in your town, your school, where you have lots of memories with Jimin, “You know...like we said during Junior year in high school?”

“I'm sorry Jimin”, you feel the guilt inside you growing, “I never kept my promises”.

“Hey...that's okay! Everyone changes. I just want you to be happy. I...I hope you are happy Y/n”, he reassures, taking your hand from your side and squeezing it between his soft palms.

“I don't know about that either...”

As much as you hated showcasing vulnerability to another person, you know Jimin is an exception. You had cried to him about everything during school days and he had never invalidated a single thing, even when you were visibly dramatic over a downpour during a family picnic when you were five.

Jimin is frozen on his seat as if he can't find the words. He was never good with words so instead he hugs you, a little longer than the last time till he is sure you have calmed down. Grateful for not ending up crying, you smile up at him and remind yourselves to get back inside to avoid suspicion, especially from the kids who take humiliating people as an important milestone to achieve.

When you enter back inside and get immediately surrounded by a million questions and chores thrown at you, you find your answer. Maybe your heart belongs back to everything your younger self had blabbered about. Not to mention, this fairly good reunion with your crush feels nice, though, he might still see it as platonic. Maybe he makes things less daunting.

By the way Jimin was owning everyone's heart in the house, it felt like he was family. Well in a way he is. But to put more clarity, he bought things together and his actions bought so much peace and love within everyone. Even the notorious twins listen carefully to him and help the uncles and aunts in the kitchen.

He is again by your side, two cupcakes rests on his palms and you take it with a silent ‘thanks’.

Seeing no signs of him beginning a talk now, you think of coming up with something. Maybe a memoir from today? Or about how absolutely handsome he looks right now? Wait.

“They are under the kissing twig!”, Aerum screams like the house caught in fire, her sibling joining by the side to provoke the habit even more.

“It's called a mistletoe Aerum”, your aunt corrects before pasting a smug across her lips.

Nothing changed. They are the same people. Hyping you and Jimin to kiss just like when you were thirteen. If the factor of time is removed, this is the exact night. Both of you cemented to the flooring as if you forgot to exist.

Both of your necks snap together to the mistletoe Jin had attached to the ceiling earlier. And when you lower your gaze back, face gawks at each other eye to eye. It's the same. He has that blush, the shyness from years ago. It's going to be platonic. Yet again. And this moment will only ever be romantic and flowery in your head.

June was the first to squeak, and Aerum shuts her eyes the moment Jimin is leaning his mouth towards your lips. It was difficult to relax under the stares of many, but when he ghosts his mouth over your again and leans in for a second kiss, you are fixated on him. Hands holding each other, the plump of his lips so soft it felt like you were biting into a fluff of cloud.

Maybe he'll have an explanation to your family for this. Not like anyone in the audience was disappointed. Your mother was almost in tears? And Jin looked hardly surprised with any of this. As if it was all swell according to his plans.

“You both are so cute”, one of the aunts awes and your mother is quick by her side, completely agreeing to it.

“Jimin...”, you return your gaze to the equally flustered man who just kissed you and he sounded almost breathless,

“I'm sorry if this was wrong it ju--”

“I like you”, you immediately snap in and his face is a void for an instant. Fully processing the words, his eyes disappear when he grins, “I like you too...a lot”.

“Are you two dating?”, the twins haven't dropped the case yet, running to your feet to help their curious brains.

“Yes...”, Jimin responds, looking up at you for a reassurance, which you quickly supply with a nod, “Yes we are dating”.

When the kids are satisfied they go away snickering to themselves.

“I decided to stay”, you say.

“Really!?”, his disbelief was comical, yet wholesome considering how much he wished for this, “I'm...I'm so happy!”.

Giggling at him, this time you lean forward and peck the corner of his lips.

“You lovebirds better get a room”, Jin announces and thankfully not loud enough to catch everyone else's attention.

Usually Jin expects a punch to his arms from his sister, but he sees how grateful you are for his mistletoe decor. He leaves the couple, satisfied that there won't be any more ranting about how much Jimin likes you.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[chanluster]

playing the game | {m} ; slight {f}

oneshot | 4k words

“Because the only way to catch your boyfriend’s attention is to play a game of your own.”

s u m m a r y >> all you wanted was some nice, alone time with your time with your boyfriend, only to have the prick playing rounds of call of duty with his friends. so, you concoct a plan, starting a game which he could not help but take part in, and thoroughly enjoy the consequences.

w a r n i n g s >> teasing, making out, (kinda) dirty talk, handjob, aggressiveness, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!) hyunjin and felix try to be massive cock blockers, aftercare (kind of lmao)

a / n >> this is made thanks to ali’s request and my ass getting horny over minho’s orange hair dear god he’s so hot - anyway, i hope you enjoy, homies!

back to masterlist

YOUR BROWS KNITTED IRRITABLY WHEN YOU WERE IGNORED ONCE MORE.

“Minho.”

No response. Once again, the said-boy chose to dismiss his name on your tongue.

Crossing your arms, you watched your boyfriend sit cross-legged before the TV, eyes trained on the match before him as his back barely touched the bed behind him. The sound of the joysticks clicking harmonised with the bullets firing in the screen, the first person player ducking behind shelter. Various junk food surrounded his settling, crisps and chocolates scattered to be eaten between breaks. 

A roll of eyes escaped you. 

Minho looked like an animal. His orange hair was disheveled from all the hand raking, bulky headphones covering his ears. His black jumper had its sleeves rolled up, meaning only business, and sweatpants of the same colour hugged his thighs a little too nicely, his phone sitting atop his knee as it buzzed with every text from his friends.

It was ridiculous. Crazy how he had not changed his position for the past four hours. There had to be a time when he paused, but the moment did not arrive to assist you.

“Minho!” You exclaimed. Once again, no response.

Like you said. Ridiculous.

It was a lazy weekend evening, and you had hoped to spend this rare opportunity to relish each other’s company, possibly become wrapped up in your own little games with him. Unfortunately for you, the piece of shit was too engulfed with ‘the boys’ to even notice you standing at the doorway, calling his name countless times. 

His complete ignorance made you incredibly annoyed. It didn’t help much that you were feeling a little aroused moments before — it was the reason you arrived in his room, expecting to have your insides rearranged, but your boyfriend was already doing that, but to another player by rifling him bloody.

“Yes, yes, yes! Wait, there’s a man to your right! Hyunjin, to your fucking right!”

A hard scoff left your lips, stepping into his room, an expanse of mint-coloured walls and books everywhere, evidence of his hard work. His bed was made perfectly, you noticed with a swelling heart, knowing he had probably cleaned it for your arrival. 

You walked over to where he sat, staring at his player stalking forward, reaching for ammo in a nearby storage box. A string of curses caught your ears, listening to Hyunjin scream in frustration as he’s killed off.

Settling yourself down beside him, you looked to him. “Minho,” you got out.

His eyes were still glued to the screen when he said, “Hey, baby.” Suddenly, he cursed, pressing on the buttons aggressively. “Felix, stop shooting in the fucking leg!”

The more he opened his mouth, the more you wished to smack his annoyingly beautiful face, but an idea, a drastic, incredibly insane idea entered your mind. 

Your lips curved into a smirk, going unnoticed.

“Minho?” You asked, sweetening your voice as you snuggled closer to your boyfriend. 

“Hmm?” The clicking grew louder as the boy began to grin, killing off the first of the last three left in the opposing team. “Aww, fuck yeah!” He brought the headphone mic to his lips, malice smeared upon them. “I’m gonna be in the final, pricks!”

You ignored the incessant complaining of his friends, turning to face him. “Minho, can I please cuddle?” You asked, eyes wide. 

Hands pressing on the volume button, he lowered the sound of his annoying teammates, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Course,” he said, holding his controller in one hand as he stretched his arms out, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, completely attached to him like a koala, legs on either side of him. The boy then locked the hug with his hands, using the controller once more as he started the final part of his match. “Alright, dickheads, let’s win this game. Save for Hyunjin, fucking loser.”

You smiled against his jumper, grip on his neck tightening. 

You better hope you win.

Raising your head just lightly, you spare one last look at your boyfriend before you closed your eyes, and planted your lips upon his neck.

And began your own game of the night. 

You felt Minho still, ever so slightly, beneath your touch. 

However, he became preoccupied with the game, as you heard prompting within his headphones from his friends. You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance, but quickly reigned in your irritancy as you slowly opened your mouth, teeth skimming over his skin to test the waters.

Minho, who was about to tell Hyunjin to fuck off for the nth time, paused, and a small hiss escaped him when you carefully sucked onto his supple skin, so slow, so gradual, knowing the boy you were trying to ruin was using every ounce of his patience not to groan into the mic.

His friends would instantly know if he let a moan escape. Call of Duty isn’t exactly a sexy game.

You slithered out your tongue, and lapped it over the raw creation upon his neck, earning a bated exhale from your victim, who could only stare at the TV screen to not lose his game. Or his sanity.

Tutting, you planted his lips, repeating the sensuous action with a new sense of determination.

Poor, poor Minho. Should have focused on the game I’m playing.

Your hands, which were vacant upon his neck, began assisting your plan, one finding comfort within his fire-like locks, and the other, the more important, the more fatal, sliding down.

And down. And down.

It stopped right to the base of his sweatpants, fingers tracing the treasure hidden a few layers beneath. The moment your hands touched the rough outline Minho yelped, dropping his phone onto the carpeted floor. His clumsy thumbs directed his player right in no man's land, exposing him to the opponents fire range.

Chuckling onto his skin, you painted another hickey onto him, ravishing one side of his throat as Minho whined softly at your efforts, restlessly working on the controller to get back to safety. You heard the confused voices of his friends in the loud headphones, asking him what that “weird ass sound” came from. The flustered boy muted his mic and paused the game, seconds ticking till the shoot down would continue on its own.

You were about to mould him another bruise when Minho’s hand on the mic gripped onto your chin, yanking you from his neck and making you face him. The moment your eyes locked, you gasped.

If you thought Minho looked like an animal before, the opinion had changed. The boy now looked like an aroused demon, staring at you in a way which had your core singing at the warnings. Curving your lips, you challenged him with your gaze, daring him to end the game entirely and spend the night the way you wished so ardently.

Perhaps he wanted to as well, because he whispered, iron in his voice, “Do not tempt me,____.”

You scoffed at his warning, distinctly remembering the hand that was planted upon his crotch, fingers still roaming. “And what if I do?” you taunted, smirk still playing on your lips.

Minho was ready to risk it all when the game signalled its continuance, and immediately his focus shifted to the screen and the bullets firing at his player. 

“Minho, you son of a bitch, turn the mic on!” Complaining voiced into his headphones, and the son of a bitch obliged, turning his mic on once more, leaving you look more or less like a fool. 

You gritted your teeth. Dear God, I’m going to make him pay!

The hand which casually rested on his semi-hard crotch, with a new objective, wrapped around the outline, fingers grazing its form with your nail. With a smug quirk of your lips you found it twitching slightly against the fabric.

A strained grunt emitted from his mouth, and he gripped his controller hard enough to snap. “You’re not going to make me lose,___.”

“Bro, the fuck? You’re playing games with your girl—?”

“You better not, Minho,” you whispered, using your free hand to grab a headphone side, craning it back to give access to his ear.

Your words had the man nearly mewling right into the mic.

“Or else you’ll lose my hands on your cock.”

Minho jerked at the threat, causing the controller to slip from his hands. The object thudded on the floor, upturned upon the carpet among the sugary mess of his snacks. 

“___,” he guttered, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood erect, much like the cock that thrummed within the pads of your fingers soon. “Don’t fucking play with me.”

“Let me get that remote control for you, babe,” you only offered, losing your hand from his crotch, earning a small whine from your boyfriend. You stretched, grabbing the controller, and turned once more to him.

You placed the object in his hold, cupping his hands and stroking the slender fingers which held the sole object of his victory. Victory not only in the battlefield, but in his bedroom, claiming it through the ravishing of your body underneath him.

“Minho? Earth to the motherfucker who’s gonna lose the game—”

“Shut up, Hyunjin,” the boy snapped, and grumbling was heard before his friend was silenced, chuckling emitting from Felix through the headphones. 

Eyes taking you prisoner, Minho grabbed onto the controller with an iron will, continuing the game. 

“Go on,___,” he taunted, a small smirk sharpening his mouth. “We’ll see who wins the game.”

Your answering grin was enough to have his cock twitching.

Your hands, now vacant, found home straight there, the fabric risen slightly. With your fingers wrapping around the covered shaft, you trailed your hand down, and up, and then down, creating friction within his layers. 

With a sucked in breath his cock shot upwards, angrily outlining itself against his sweatpants. His focus wavered on the screen, barely able to avoid death as he hid behind a vandalised building. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he rasped out, you surprised to find his breathing already a little ragged. Malicious pride flooded your features, and you only kissed the corner of his mouth in response, earning a hiss from his truly. 

“Don’t lose focus, babe,” you murmured, planting another open mouthed kiss upon his cheek. “Or else you’ll lose.”

“Minho, what the fuck is happening?” Hyunjin’s irritated voice crowed into the mic, but the boy, with a single hand, ripped the headphones from his ears, tossing them across. “Minho?!”

“Shut the fuck up, prick!” He shouted, desperation laced in his tone as he frantically tried to kill his opponents. 

You, on the other hand, closed yourself further in, your other hand cupping his jaw while the more important travelled to the band of his sweatpants, sliding inside.

“Fuck—”

You ignored his string of further curses, melting at the heated member which stood furiously erect at your actions. 

“Already so affected by me, babe?” You cooed, index finger tracing the thicker skin, the length of him, the idea of this raging cock driven inside of you. 

“If you don’t shut your mouth,___, I swear to God—”

“Or what, Minho?” You pressed your lips upon the corners of his jaw. “You’ll shut me up with your cock?”

When you journeyed to the top of his member you feel the warm pre-cum, starting to stain his sweatpants. You wrapped your fingers around him, beginning your first action to his downfall.

The moment your hands descended down his shaft he let out a rather loud moan, aggravated and fuelled with pleasure. You repeated the action, up and down, slowly, careful not to pick up the pace, not to have your boyfriend already cumming into your hands. You refused to let him have the satisfaction.

“Jesus, fuck—” he breathed out, and perhaps you threw him the bone of your gradual rapidity of your ascending and descending upon his cock, his incessant groaning gradually getting louder. “___, I’m going to—”

“Minho,” you started, pausing your task. The boy complained, but you held strong, caressing his ear with your lips. “You better win the game first. Eyes on the screen.”

Lee Minho, who never listened to anyone or anything, shocked you when he almost broke the controller trying to find the last man standing on the battlefield. “I don’t see your hand working, babe,” he provoked, and you giggled at his over-enthusiasm laced in his torment, and obliged when you began your faster pace of moving your hand, already making the boy pant over your skill. 

Your mouth, in the meantime, occupied itself with peppering kisses upon his face, avoiding his lips because you knew he’d melt right into your touch. Even then he leaned in more to your kisses, causing him to avoid death countless times within the game.

“You better be prepared when I win the game,___,” he declared in a husky rasp. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Although that had your core tightening in pleasure, you smirked. “I’d like to see you try,” you countered back, increasing your speed and having Minho practically eating off your hand. You gave kudos to his self control, but you had a small feeling it was on a tight leash.

And every tight leash is more likely to snap.

The boy, shaking hands fumbling on his controller, advanced on his enemy, weapon out and ready to obliterate his final objective.

It was then you smacked his lips against his, enveloping him in a kiss which completely threw him off guard. 

You heard the sound of bullets firing in the TV screen, and a thud! of a body hitting against the concrete floors of the destination.

Minho pulled away from the kiss, eyes wide with shock as he observed the results.

His player, slumped in shame behind the winner, proudly standing with his prized gun and camo gear adorned. 

You looked back at the results board showing up on the screen, and see the lack of your boyfriend’s name on the top of the leaderboard.

“Tsk, tsk, babe,” you mocked, the most smug little smile upon your lips. You slithered your hand out of his sweatpants, both hands now upon his thighs. “Looks like you lost the game.”

His eyes locked with yours, and something was shifting, but you dismissed it, chuckling as you heaved up, dusting yourself off as if you hadn’t just given your boyfriend ultimate blue balls.

You turned on your heel, about to leave the room when Minho’s satanic mumble froze you entirely. 

“I still have one more game to finish,___.”

You whirled back, and you yelped to see the boy standing not two inches before you, gaze so predatory you felt your legs weaken at the mere sight.

“You didn’t,” you started, but the more you stared the more your words began to fade. Jesus in his sweet little stable, you really did think you were going to fall. “You...you didn’t win, Minho.”

With a harsh scoff the boy gathered you up in his arms, a startled noise escaping you when he carried you bride-style, and practically threw you on that crisp, clean bed he had prepared all those hours ago.

“Sure, I didn’t win the last one,” he drawled, and you were about to leak with the way he prowled towards you. He secured his position atop you, legs on either side of you, and leaned in till your face was a hair’s width from yours.

“But I’m not losing in your game.”

You nearly moaned straight away when he imprisoned you with his kiss, capturing your lips and moving them perfectly with his. Your hands instantly found refuge in his hair, his locks which tickled your face as he kissed you crazy.

His own fingers travelled to your waist, creeping inside your top, each touch of his skin against yours like fire licking against the expanse. God, it was like you had dropped yourself in the underworld, and his hands were raging waves of fire, threatening to decimate you. The worst part was you welcomed this destruction. 

He broke the kiss, gasping for air before attacking the rest of your face with his lips, fingers still spreading heat while the other hand began its descent down your jeans, palming his desired destination. 

A loud moan shamelessly emitted from your mouth, and Minho smirked with the same lack of shame you possessed, ravishing your throat the same way you did not so long ago. His teeth painted love bites down his trail, and you ravaged his hair, tugging at his shirt in pleading to take it off.

“I’m already winning, huh?” He whispered, ragged voice so incredibly hot you grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled the useless piece of clothing off him, tossing it to the floor. 

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you got out, and with wicked laughter he made you wait, tugging at your own shirt to even the odds. You took it off, joining Minho’s clothing, and were back upon each other’s mouths, opening up enough for Minho to slide his tongue inside you. 

Your bare chests collided as you raised yourself a little higher, hands on the band of his sweats as you yanked them down. Minho abandoned his sweatpants upon the floor, and did the same of you, mouth watering at the sight of your red lace, a little present you hoped he would see earlier. His blatant staring had you flushing the colour of your underwear, and he caught you, grinning wildly at your flustered nature.

“Awww,” he cooed, throwing your jeans in the pile. “Now you’re getting shy?” He hooked a finger under your lace, slowly, too fucking slowly dragging the material down. “Where was this blush when you were playing with my cock?”

“Minho!” You whined, digging your nails in his skin. “Damn it, just fuck me!”

Cruel laughter rang around the bedroom. “Oh, so when you’re needy, I just obey you? Just like that?” His lust-blown eyes regarded your slick cunt, and pride engulfed him, knowing your arousal was completely his doing. 

“Please,” you let yourself beg, because at this point, your desire had conquered your common decency — the need for your boyfriend to pound you till morning had overtaken the need to slap the conceited smirk off his face. “Please, Minho—”

The pleading had him bruising your mouth with his, as he too pried off his underwear, cock still throbbing from the teasing you left unfinished. The recent memory of you sliding your hand up and down his shaft still drove him to near insanity, and by God if he did not drive the bloody thing inside you he truly would become deranged. 

Pulling apart, Minho presses his forehead against yours as he guided his head to your entrance, gleaming with arousal and a promise of one hell of a fucking night. “Say the words,” he demanded, and this time you gritted your teeth. Stubborn till the end, I see. 

“Fuck you.”

Your response was a shit-eating grin, as he slowly retracted his member. “Wrong,” he jeered.

“Minho—!” You exclaimed hysterically, reminding yourself that you’re going to kill him when all of this is over. As of now, you were silently hoping he would kill you with his cock.

“Beg for it,___,” he ordered as he grazed his head against you, and you cursed yourself for being so pig-headed, for depriving yourself this opportunity. 

“Please!” Your breathing turned short, clinging onto the boy for dear life. “Please, just fuck me already—”

With the magic words, Minho clasped his lips upon yours as he drove his cock straight into you.

Your pleasured scream nearly brought down the roof, but he drowned it out with his lips, stubborn as they moved so amazingly, almost in sync to each thrust he sent your way, each time he slid his cock in and out, in and out till you were certain you were going to see stars. Although you had fucked Minho many times before, today, your mewling was louder, your grip on his shoulders a little tighter and your heart more inclined to burst in your rib cage. 

Your consistent beseeching was music to his ears, and you felt your peak nearer and nearer, whimpering the warnings to Minho that you were going to die, and you would gladly accept this demise if it promised such unadulterated pleasure. The boy hastily nodded, sweat-slick locks sticking to his face, burying his face in your neck as he held you close.

“Minho, please, I-I’m going to—Ah!” You yelped with the sheer force of his thrusts, rolling your eyes back subconsciously as your grip nearly slipped on his back. You did not care that your peak would probably snap you in half. You did not care about anything but Minho’s cock, showing you the constellations of the universe. 

When your orgasm finally caught up on you it threatened to break you — your moans were bellowed across the room, were so obscenely loud but had little in you to care when Minho held onto you every minute of it, the last grip of stability in your fucked out vision. The one man who brought you down from your myriad of fantasies, washing all over you. 

The boy’s own cock sought relief, barrelling his release inside you, some escaping from your cunt and staining the sweat-slick sheets. The symphony of panted breaths harmonised with the heightened groaning of your voice, and at last Minho pulled out, slumping beside you on the bed. 

You tried to calm your breathing, ragged and almost painful with its irregularity moments before. His breaths were laboured too, one hand upon his rising and setting chest. A strange sense of calm washed over you, and was confirmed further when, with a small gasp, you felt the sheets being pulled over you. 

Turning, you faced the tired, yet happy face of Minho’s, lazily smiling as he closed his eyes, leaning against the divan. You returned his smile, snuggling up to him, planting your head against his chest.

His voice reverberated against your cheek as he said, “Looks like I won, baby.”

You looked up, shooting him a fatigued, yet incredulous look which had him huffing out a laugh. “You’re insufferable.” You mumbled, and were about to leave his presence when he wrapped his arms around you, refusing to let you go.

”And you’re exquisite,” he responded, propping his chin atop your head, stroking your arm with a soothing hand. 

Heart fluttering, you wrapped his your arms around him, breathing him in, relishing in his presence, secretly thanking the stars above that he’s real and he’s beside you, moments after fucking you. 

You were about to say something sweet when a familiar voice screeched into existence. 

“OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Both of you jumped at the exclamation, eyes widening when you both caught sight of Minho’s headphones in the corner of the room.

“MINHO, YOU DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER—”

When the two of you locked eyes, disbelief crossed your features.

“Babe,” you began, stare widening, “Did you... not...mute your mic…?”

Your question was answered, but not by your boyfriend. 

“Minho, if you were gonna rail ___ then you could have muted the goddamn mic—”

“Oh fuck,” Minho got out, and you cupped your mouth with your hands in shock, watching the boy run towards his mic, despite being stark naked. He picked up his headphones, saying, “Guys, I’m so sorry, holy shit—”

“I hate you, Minho!” You screeched, all the blood in your body rushing to your cheeks. You could only pull the sheets over yourself, hoping the bed could swallow you up forever. 

Guilty laughter escaped from the boy, and you didn’t even perk your head over to flip him off. 

You could hear the grin in his next words, and although you wanted nothing more than to strangle his dumb ass, it still made you blush even harder, letting yourself smile at his response. 

“I love you, too!”

[ttylfedora]

The Rookiest Rookie that ever Rookied- Part Two

Oh god I feel so bad for Cole!!

Characters belong to the completely wonderful @lumosinlove

Cw, food

Enjoy!! 💚

“Right, mon fils, you remember the plan?” Pascal had sat Louis and Marc down at the dining room table and had his serious dad face on. The boys knew this face meant business and sat up straighter, as though they were in a proper business meeting.

“Oui, papa.” Louis answered. Marc nodded in agreement, both of them determined not to let their father down. After all, this was the difference between whether or not they could go out for ice cream at the weekend. All of the shots were riding on this!

“Repeat it back to me.” Dumo instructed.

“Which part?” Marc questioned, still getting his little brain around all of the instructions his father had given him.

“All of it, this is serious business. The two of you are embarking on a journey that can only be ruled as the greatest journey known to man. You two have a legacy to fill, mon fils, a legacy!” Dumo exclaimed dramatically, his arms out as though he was introducing a show on the West End.

“Ce n'est pas si dramatique, papa.” Louis rolled his eyes, and his father gasped.

“Say that again and you are grounded.” Pascal locked his eyes on Louis’. The famous Dumais pranks were a serious business and should be treated as such.

“There is a lot riding on this,” Dumo reasoned, “do you want ice cream or not?”

“I guess.” Louis huffed. “Alright, so we only answer to each other’s names.”

“Make sure all the clocks show a different time.” Marc continued “Can you help us get the higher clocks?” he asked his dad. Dumo nodded.

“Make sure the robot spider is under the couch.” Louis chimed in.

“Ask him where babies come from.” Marc giggled. “Where do they come from papa?” he asked curiously.

“Non, non, ask Cole. He’ll tell you.” Dumo wiggled his finger in front of his younger son's face.

“Okay, okay.”

“Parfait, right, he’ll be back in,” he checked his watch,”half an hour from hanging out with Leo. Let’s get this started, shall we mes fils?” Dumo rubbed his hands together and giggled, leading his children into the kitchen to get started on the clocks.

--

“Right, we shouldn’t be gone for long but if anything goes wrong, just call us straight away. We’ll be back by dinner time.” Celeste fussed. Her husband was already out in the car with Adele and Katie, ready to take them both to basketball practice.

“I will, promise.” Cole smiled. It was the first time they trusted him to look after any of their kids so he can understand why they were airing on the side of caution. “We’ll have lots of fun.” He smiled over to the two boys who were currently sat watching something on the television. Celeste thanked him again and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

Babysitting was a piece of cake. He could do this.

“Right boys, what’s the plan for today.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, sitting down on the couch that was adjacent to the two brothers. Marc’s eyes lit up.

“Can we make a cake?” he asked, practically jumping up from his spot on the couch.

“We certainly can, what flavour?”

Marc thought for a moment. “Chocolate.” he smiled.

“Sounds good to me, buddy, lead the way.” He reached over and grabbed the remote off of the coffee table in the centre of the room and switched the television off, following them into the kitchen.

“Right, let me see what we have here,” Cole started, going through all of the cupboards to round up the ingredients for the cake.

“Louis, can you grab me the eggs please.” He said over his shoulder as he went to retrieve the milk and butter from the fridge.

“No, no, no, Marc wait-“ Cole was cut off by the eggs Marc was attempting to hold in one hand dropping to the floor and smashing everywhere. He froze with his arms out mid step, and just sighed, laughing slightly. “Oh dear.” Marc looked up at him.

“Sorry Cole.”

“It’s okay buddy, how about you go and change your trousers and socks so that you’re not walking around all day with egg on them and we’ll throw them in the wash. It’s no big deal.” he smiled, grabbing a wet paper towel to start to clean the egg yolk off of the floor. Marc nodded and ran to his room. As he cleaned up, Louis gathered all of the ingredients onto the side, and grabbed more eggs from the basket.

By the time the floor was clean, Marc had come back down in a fresh pair of jeans and socks and popped his dirty ones into the washing machine for his mother to deal with later.

“Perfect, right, Marc, you’re in charge of weighing things, okay?” He looked at Marc but Louis nodded, sitting up on the bar stool in front of the weighing scales.

“Okay.” Louis smiled. Cole widened his eyes slightly but shook it off. Maybe he misspoke?

“Marc, you’re going to help me mix everything up, okay?”

“But I thought I was weighing the ingredients?” Louis asked, confused.

“Yeah, I was talking to your brother?” Cole said, though it came out more of a question. He placed his hand on his hip and scratched his head.

The boys just shrug and carry on anyway, allowing Cole to guide them through the recipe, one his mother swears by back at home. He was hoping it lived up to Celeste’s baking but he doubted his skills were that good. It was the least he could offer her for all the amazing meals she had cooked for him so far. She insisted that it was nothing but when one is so far away from home, having another mother cook a full homemade meal brought immense amounts of comfort to him.

They carried on working around each other, occasionally turning up the radio when a good song comes on, laughing and throwing flour and sugar over each other. Cole was an only child, but if he wasn’t, this is how he would want to spend his weekends with them. He supposed he wasn’t any more; his chosen family adding to the numbers ten-fold and he was beyond grateful for it.

Once all of the ingredients had been mixed, he asked Louis, well who he was sure was Louis, to help him pour the cake mix into the cake moulds. He started doubting himself as Marc, well who he was sure was Marc, came to help him. Once he had placed the moulds into the oven, which he noted had the wrong time displayed, he sent the kids through to the sitting room as he set the timer on his phone. His thumb hovered over the message app icon, wondering whether or not admitting defeat was wise. He quickly changed his mind as he thought up a better idea, opened the app and clocked on Leo’s name instead.

‘Hey man, I have a really embarrassing question but you CANNOT tell Dumo, okay?’

‘Oh god, this is gonna be good.’

‘Leo, PROMISE ME.’

‘Jeez man, okay, i promise!!’

‘Which of Dumo’s boys are older? Louis or Marc? Because i think ive been calling them by the wrong names.’

‘OH MY GOD HAHAHAHAHAHA COLE!!!!!!!!! PLEASE TELL ME YOURE JOKING’

‘Leo…’

‘Oh my god you arent joking.’

‘Please?’

‘Marc is the older one. Oh my god that is actually hilarious. Logan’s wetting himself.’

‘I’m never hearing the end of this.’

Cole put his phone away in his pocket, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Had he been calling these kids by the wrong name for the past month? It would seem so. He filled himself a glass of water and walked into the sitting room, sitting down on the couch next to Marc, no, Louis, the younger one.

“How long until the cake’s ready?” the older one asked.

“About twenty minutes now buddy. What are we watching?” he asked, gesturing to the television.

“Minecraft videos,” the youngest answered, smiling. Cole shook his head, clearly realising he had lost his touch with kids. Wasn’t Minecraft big, what, four years ago now? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, liking and commenting on a few of the posts until the youngest sibling piped up again.

“Cole?” he asked, an inquisitive look on his face.

“Mhm?” Cole replied, taking a sip of his water.

“Where do babies come from?”

Cole promptly spat his water back out looking at the youngest with wide eyes, stuttering slightly in shock. How was he meant to answer that?!

“I- well- have you not asked your dad this?” he stuttered, this was not what he expected to be answering today, to a nine year old nonetheless.

“Non, I just thought of it” the younger one shook his head.

“Oh, well, I mean, when two adults want to have a baby, they do a special hug, I guess?” Cole replied cautiously.

“So maman, and papa did a special hug for me, Louis, Katie and Adele?”

Cole just stared at him, mouth trying and failing to come up with a response to that. The last thing he even wanted to think about was Dumo’s sex life, no matter how many times the Lions’ sex lives were brought up in the locker room.

Thankfully, the timer for the cake went off, giving him the perfect excuse to exit the conversation. He set the cake on the side to cool, making a start on the icing. The boys decided to stay in the sitting room, engrossed in the video they were watching. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Surely it wasn’t still early afternoon? He checked the time on the oven and it matched, as did the one on the radio, and the fridge, and everything else in the kitchen apart from his phone.

“Boys, what time is it?” he shouted through to them.

“The tv says it’s 3pm!” Marc, Louis, the older one shouted back. He ran his hands over his face and checked his phone, noting that the time read ‘17:30’. He just rested his head in his hands with his elbows against the counter; he evidently did not get enough sleep last night. He quickly decorated the cake to return his thought process to something concrete and set it aside, joining the boys in front of the television quickly after.

He couldn’t have been sat down for more than five minutes when the biggest fuck off spider he had ever seen crawled out from under the couch, right next to his foot. Like any normal, self-respecting 19 year old man, he screamed and jumped up onto the couch.

Both boys were in hysterics.

“Cole, we got you so good!” The younger of the two was currently beside himself on the other couch, tears streaming from his eyes as he held up a little remote; evidently the remote for the spider.

“You two are taking after your father it seems.” Cole laughed nervously. He was well aware of the notorious Pascal Dumais prank streak and it seemed. They pressed play on the tv until Celeste, Dumo, Adele and Katie came home. He was grateful only in the sense that he was completely and utterly exhausted from today.

“Aaahhhh, you boys made a cake!” Celeste mused, walking into the kitchen to have a look at it, “it will be perfect for after dinner.”

“Did you have a good day, mes garçons?” he asked. Both boys nodded, understanding that their father was asking if they did everything he asked of them.

“It seems your boys take after you, Dumo. Got me pretty good with a spider under the couch there.” Cole laughed from his position on the couch.

Dumo let out one of the biggest dad laughs known to man. “Incroyable! I’m proud of you both!” Both of his sons looked at him and began laughing with him, but followed their mother and sisters into the kitchen.

“I hope they weren’t too much trouble?” Dumo asked, hanging his coat up and turning to Cole.

“No, not at all. It was a fun day, a long day but a fun one. Really set me through my paces there. For a hot second i thought it was one of your tasks.” he laughed as he stood up.

Dumo froze.

“My children are a task to you?” he looked Cole straight in the eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Cole stared at him wide eyed and started stuttering, attempting to form and answer. Pascal laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m only joking, kid. You should have seen your face!”

“Haha, yeah, I’m just going to run to the toilet real quick and I’ll join you for dinner. Won’t be long!” He left, looking quite flustered as PAscal made his way into the kitchen. His wife was leant against the counter with her arms crossed and a slightly amused expression on her face.

“You are a cruel man, mon roi. A cruel cruel man.” she shook her head and turned back around as she continued to prepare dinner.

He stalked over and placed a kiss on her head.

“It’s called character building, ma reine.” he smiled. “And I am nowhere near done just yet.”

[butternuggets-blog]

OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @adowbaldwin @profoundme444 @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont

Part Twenty-Eight

Summary: Baldwin de Clermont manages to upset an ancient hag. He wakes up.. different.

Because it was Valentine’s Day, and Liv had been craving sushi, Baldwin took her out to dinner at a sushi bar tucked discreetly down an alley in Courcelles-de-Touraine.

He picked her up promptly at six o’clock, giving her a kiss, a box of chocolates, and a corsage of peach and hybrid tea roses.

‘Thank you!’ Liv kissed him back and slipped the corsage onto her wrist with a big smile, then reached for a small black box sitting nearby and handed it to Baldwin. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’

The box was leather bound, with a swing latch on the front. Baldwin opened it; inside were silver cufflinks, each set with a tiny lavender rose, and a slim glass bottle of amber-coloured liquid.

'What's this?'

'It's..me, in a bottle' Liv rocked on her heels, a little sheepishly. 'It's my scent. So I'll be with you wherever you go'

Baldwin didn't know what to say. He held the bottle tight, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

'Um.. that's..um..thank you' Baldwin kissed Liv again. An errant thought made him pause.

'How do you know what you smell like? Witches can't detect each other's scent'

Liv sighed softly and pulled out her phone. A video of a young man in glasses and a waterproof jacket popped up on the screen. He was pale, and visibly trembling.

'Hel-Hello! My-my name is Deacon..oh jeez' he gulped down a lungful of air and wiped a hand across his face. 'I..er.. I'm from New Zealand, as you can tell.. heh.. it-it was just a business idea please don't kill me!'

'To be fair on Deacon, we had been talking about making commission-only scent perfumes for a while now so please don't be mad at him' Liv reached out and rubbed his arm. 'He's an old acquaintance and a business partner. This is for you. ONLY for you'

Baldwin nodded, trying to breath through the fog of murder rising slowly behind his eyes.

'Thank you. I trust you'

Liv smiled. 'I value your trust'

________________________________________________________________

Marcus had been very clear about the foods that Liv was not allowed to eat now that she was pregnant. Baldwin had made her recite them.

'Mould cheese, pate, raw eggs, raw meat-' Liv sang, '-liver products, certain supplements, certain fish, certain fruits and vegetables, certain types of sushi, un-past-eu-rised milk, alcohol and caffeiiine!'

He'd rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead.

'Acceptable level of sass for such important information'

Vegetable sushi was fine, as was any cooked through thoroughly enough to avoid listeria. Liv chose some safe options, and a glass of water, and got stuck in.

Baldwin proceeded cautiously. He hadn’t had sushi before, and had extremely mixed feelings about whether or not he would like it. But he’d been willing to put his stomach on the line for a night out with Liv.

Overall, everything tasted...great! The seaweed was bland and virtually tasteless, but the rice was sticky and chewy and felt nice in his mouth.

The rest of the ingrediants didn’t do too poorly either. Beef and chicken were, as he’d expected, very nice. Hard to get them wrong, really. Some of the fish was a bit iffy, but he loved the ones with crab. He tried prawn, and promptly spat it back out again discreetly, into a napkin. He vaguely remembered despising it centuries ago.

Liv encouraged him to try rice wine, which he quite liked, and mochi ice cream afterwards, which he was ambivalent towards. They wound down their meal with chocolate mousse, and then Baldwin just managed to stagger out of his chair and escort Liv back to the car.

'Yep, that did it' Baldwin collapsed slowly onto Liv's couch, putting an arm around her shoulder as she snuggled up into his side. 'That last bit of mousse killed me. I'm too full.'

Liv laughed.

'Poor baby!' she kissed his cheek, then the tip of his nose when he turned to look at her.

'Happy Valentine's Day'

Author's Note

Did I name Deacon after one of the vampires in What We Do In The Shadows? Yes

Is he a different vampire from New Zealand? Yes

Does he get flack in-universe over this? Oh yes 😄😁

And he wears fake glasses for sentimental reasons.

Peach roses: Appreciation, Closing of the deal, Gratitude, Immortality, Let’s get together, Modesty, Sincerity.

Hybrid Tea roses: Always lovely, Desire, Enduring desire, I’ll remember always.

Lavender roses: Enchantment, Love at first sight, Magic

I’M REUPLOADING THIS BECAUSE I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS THE FIRST TIME...I AM AN IDIOT..

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 6, Number 10

The Slugs 

September seemed to be the month when all the records on endless delay finally got kicked out the door, COVID or no, ready or not here we come. We’re deluged with music, some recorded before the world changed, some clearly cooked up mid-pandemic. There are a lot of covers EPs, lots of solo material, lots of home-made lo-fi, lots of benefit comps, and who are we to complain? Better, instead, to reach for the headphones, load up the hard drive, pile on the LPs and do some listening. Here’s some of the stuff that caught our attention, as usual ranging all over the continuum, from traditional to edgy and experimental, from silly pop punk to enraged death metal to bookish electro-acoustic improvisation. Contributors this time out included Jonathan Shaw, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Derek Taylor, Ray Garraty, Tim Clarke and Andrew Forell. Happy fall.

Amputation — Slaughtered in the Arms of God (Nuclear War Now!)

Slaughtered in the Arms of God by Amputation

Given the degree of smugness that accompanies utterances of the phrase “Old School Death Metal,” it’s frequently instructive to listen to some. Right on time, the misanthropic bunch at Nuclear War Now! has delivered some seriously Old School sounds to our digital doorstep. This new compilation LP gathers both of the demos of Norwegian knuckle-draggers Amputation, along with a contemporaneous rehearsal recording. Likely the resulting record will be of principal interest to fans of Immortal, the long-running, on-again-off-again Norwegian black metal band that Amputation would morph into in 1991. The songs collected on Slaughtered in the Arms of God have some additional musicological significance, as they document the sounds of 1989 and 1990, transformational years in Norway’s metal scene. Mayhem and Darkthrone tend to get most of the attention, for reasons both good and bad; and like Darkthrone, Amputation made death metal before transitioning to blacker, more brittle sounds. The music on Slaughtered in the Arms of God is muddy, thudding and thick. Perhaps that’s the result of the primitive recording tech the band used, likely of necessity. But through the murk (and to some degree because of it), you can hear the influence of Stockholm’s fecund death metal scene, especially Dismember’s earliest stuff. Scandinavia’s metal currents run deep and dark. Whether that means that Old School Death Metal is intrinsically a good thing is a different matter.

Jonathan Shaw

 Anz — Loose in Twos (NRG) 12” (Hessle Audio)

Loos In Twos (NRG) by Anz

I love the idea of listening to DJ mixes of original or all-new material; it’s probably why I still value, say, Ricardo Villalobos’ Fabric 36 so much. Manchester’s Anna Marie-Odubote, aka Anz, has been doing just such a thing annually since 2015 and really went wild with spring/summer dubs 2020, which compiled 74 tracks into nearly an hour and a half of new music. That would’ve been more than enough amid all of this (imagine me gesturing around vaguely), but “Loos in Twos (NRG)” on the venerable Hessle Audio imprint is an equally formidable, decidedly tighter release I played a lot at the start of September. Three club-ready tracks here break down acid, jungle and footwork, and while all three are heady breaks, the looped vocals and bongo of “Stepper” make it the one for me. Get those feet moving digitally now so they’re comfortable once the vinyl arrives in early October.

Patrick Masterson

 Ashes and Afterglow — Everybody Wants a Revolution (Postlude Paradox)

Ashes and Afterglow drops pop punk melodies into deep buckets of fuzz, lets them bubble and bob to the surface before shoving them under again. The band is mainly the output of one Luke Daniel, who appears to have been in other band called Sea of Orchids, but neither outfit has left much of an internet trail. And sure, this is the kind of thing that could easily get shuffled under; it breaks no moulds. And yet shuffling “To Take a Look at the World,” has a heart-worn resonance, Daniel’s voice echoing in reverbed hollow-ness against surging tides of guitar noise. “My Yesterday Girl” churns a little harder, with a bright, pop-leaning sort of hopefulness hedged in by seething feedback. It’s not bad, but it never hits a melodic vein the way that similarly inclined artists like Ted Leo or Ovlov or Tony Molina do, and it never pushes the noise over the top, either. Neither pop nor punk but somewhere in middle.

Jennifer Kelly

 Ballister — Znachki Stilyag (Aerophonic)

Znachki Stilyag by Ballister

A cake is still a cake, whether you put chocolate frosting and strawberries or white icing and a fondant roses on top. And while they don’t all taste or look exactly the same, a Ballister album is still a Ballister album, and the first Ballister album in three years does not mess with the recipe. Dave Rempis (alto and tenor saxophones), Fred Lonberg-Holm (cello and electronics), and Paal Nilssen-Love (drums and percussion) still trade in a particularly hard-hitting form of total improvisation. The changes are ones of emphasis — Lonberg-Holm sounds like he’s using a wah-wah pedal and deploys some especially slashing feedback tones, there’s a bit more space in Nilssen-Love’s intricate beat configurations, and Rempis left his baritone sax at home — and of location. Znachki Stilyag was recorded during the fall of 2019 in Moscow, Russia, which may explain why the big horn stayed at home. But the ones you hear still cut and thrust with broadsword force and rapier precision. This is a cake you can trust.

Bill Meyer  

 Vincent Chancey — The Spell: The Vincent Chancey Trio Live, 1987 (No Business) 

Vincent Chancey likely isn’t alone amongst his peers in feeling exasperated by folks singling out his instrument as uncommon or unusual to jazz. It’s a form of damning through faint praise and one that feel

s even more lackadaisical with any time spent with his music. Chancey plays the French horn and he’s plied it in settings as diverse as Sun Ra Arkestra, Lester Bowie’s Brass Fantasy and Charlie Haden’s Liberation Music Orchestra as well as gigs supporting Aretha Franklin and Elvis Costello. It’s unclear whether the trio documented on The Spell was a working concern, but that hardly matters given how well bassist Wilbur Morris and percussionist Warren Smith gel with their convener. Spread across two sides of an LP, the concert recorded at a New York City art gallery covers four pieces, two by Morris bookending one apiece from Smith and the leader that stitch together very much like cohesive suite. An unadvertised surprise comes with Smith’s ample application of marimba alongside a regular drum kit. Recording quality isn’t optimal, but Chancey’s rich, rounded, phrases gain extra gravitas through the sometimes-grainy acoustics. Woefully underrepresented in the driver’s seat discographically, his acumen as both improviser and composer is easily vindicated by this limited edition (300 copies) release.

Derek Taylor 

 Che Chen — Tokyo 17.II.2012 (self-released)

Tokyo 17.II.2012 by Che Chen

Nowadays Che Chen has earned a measure renown as the guitar-playing half of 75 Dollar Bill, and all the praise is earned. But before that, he played a roomful of instruments in the True Primes, Heresy of the Free Spirit and duos with Robbie Lee, Tetuzi Akiyama and Chie Mukai. The through-lines to all these efforts is a willingness not to play things the way their supposed to be played, and a gift for supplying the right resonance in any setting. Since 75 Dollar Bill is a New York-based band made for social occasions, the COVID-19 lay-off has been especially hard — so there’s no better time to see what’s in those hard drives in the closet, right? Chen has released this solo concert from 2012 via Bandcamp. In Tokyo for a brief layover, he played amplified violin at a party held in the basement of someone’s apartment building. The amplified part is important; dips and swells of feedback count as much as in this 25-minute performance as the fiddle’s bright, plucked notes and rough, bowed tones. Chen moves purposefully from one mode to next, taking time along the way to savor the room’s lively acoustics.

Bill Meyer

 Jeff Cosgrove/ John Medeski/ Jeff Lederer — History Gets Ahead of the Story (Grizzley Music)

Odds are that even the estimable William Parker would be surprised by the prospect of a William Parker cover album. But that’s essentially what History Gets Ahead of the Story is as organized and realized by drummer Jeff Cosgrove. That the project is the province of an organ trio only adds to the potential consternation quotient. John Medeski officiates the Hammond B-3 console and saxophonist Jeff Lederer, doubling on flute, completes the combo convened by Cosgrove. The latter’s connections to Parker stem from a trio he was part of with the bassist/composer and pianist Matthew Shipp that disbanded in 2015 after fruitful collaboration. Parker’s personage and music left an indelible mark and the seeds for the present album were sown. Collective creative license doesn’t get in the way of soulful, energizing renderings of such staples as “O’Neal’s Porch,” “Corn Meal Dance” and “Wood Flute Songs,” but troika also cedes time for a triptych of strong originals that align aurally with their dedicatee’s inclusive tone world sensibilities.

Derek Taylor   

 Derelenismo Occulere — Inexorable Revelación (Le Legione Projets)

Inexorable Revelacion (FULL LENGHT 2020) by Derelenismo Occulere

This sounds like a rehearsal gone wrong. In the time of the COVID pandemic, Neo Apolion, a guy responsible for the music in this Ecuadorean duo, recorded a demo and sent it to the band’s vocalist Malduchryst with a message to do with it whatever he wants. Malduchryst took his band partner’s words all too literally. With complete disregard to the music he began vomiting a noisy, messy mass of screams to a microphone (has he never heard of a black metal with no vocals?). If it sounds totally batshit, you can rest assured that it is. This is what makes Inexorable Revelación actually great black metal. When a lot of metal bands these days are just Backstreet Boys with leather jackets on and with guitars, Derelenismo Occulere care about only fury and mayhem. Their Argentinean mix man Ignacio only adds more chaos to the album. The only flaw this tape has is that it is 15 minutes too long.

Ray Garraty  

 Whit Dickey — Morph (ESP-Disk)

Morph by Whit Dickey

Drummer Whit Dickey and pianist Matthew Shipp have been recurrent partners since the early 1990s, when they were both members of the David S. Ware Quartet. It’s fair to say that each man is a known quantity to the other, and that one of the things they know about each other is that they might still be surprised by the other’s playing. Dickey’s retreated from time to time in order to revise his approach, and while Shipp has often threatened to quit recording over the years, he has never stopped working or evolving. This double disc combines one duo CD and another that adds trumpeter Nate Wooley to the pair. Wooley’s done a number of dates with Shipp in recent times, but he and Dickey were musical strangers before they entered Park West Studios in March 2019. Without Wooley, Shipp and Dickey seem very free and trusting of each other, transitioning with dreamlike ease from abstracted gospel to sideways swing to restless co-rumination this the ease. The trio seems more considered. The trumpeter dips quite sparingly into his extended technique bag, favoring instead linear statements that instigate fleet perambulations from the pianist and more supportive, less overtly dialogic contributions from the drummer. Both sessions work, and their differences complement each other quite handily.

Bill Meyer

 Dropdead — S/T (Armageddon)

Dropdead 2020 by Dropdead

Yep, it’s that Dropdead, the Providence-based powerviolence band that hasn’t released a proper LP since 1998 and was on a long hiatus through much of the 21st century. Since 2011, Dropdead has put out a string of splits, with heavyweights like Converge and Brainoil. But a whole record? Maybe the unrelentingly shitty condition of our political and economic conjuncture motivated the four guys in the band (three of whom have been affiliated with Dropdead since 1991) to write the 23 burners, rants and breakdown-heavy hardcore tunes you’ll hear across Dropdead’s 25 minutes. It’s a welcome addition. Bob Otis’s voice doesn’t have the shredding quality of days of yore — but that ends up being useful. You can hear the lyrics, and they’re drenched in venom and righteousness. The rest of the band hasn’t lost a step. Pretty impressive for a bunch of guys with that much grey in their beards. That said, they don’t pull any intergenerational, “we’re-older-and-wiser” moves. This is still music that wants to collapse boundaries, between stage and mosh pit, between races and genders, between species, even. Not so much class positions: “Warfare State,” “United States of Corruption,” “Will You Fight?” Late capitalism’s depredations still bear the principal brunt of the band’s anger. Things have gotten worse, and Dropdead respond in kind. They may be a lot older, but they’re even more pissed off.

Jonathan Shaw

 Fake Laugh — Waltz (State 51 Conspiracy)

Earlier this year, Kamran Khan released his second Fake Laugh album, the charming, playful Dining Alone, which made its way into Dusted’s mid-year round-up of favorites released in the first half of 2020. Khan’s third album, Waltz, is a very different beast, featuring just piano, vocals and the odd keyboard texture, casting his songwriting in sharp relief. Undoubtedly created in this stripped-down way out of lockdown necessity, it’s hard to listen to these wistful, melancholic songs without imagining where Khan’s knack for colorful arrangements might take them, given the chance. (As a tease, closing song “Amhurst” offers up a shimmering electronic melody and some sighing synth chords.) There’s no doubting Khan’s way with a tune, and his naked vocal, though occasionally showing strain, suits the mood. It’s understated and undeniably lovely, yet Waltz feels like a minor release for this talented artist.

Tim Clarke

 David Grubbs / Taku Unami — Comet Meta (Blue Chopsticks)

Comet Meta by David Grubbs & Taku Unami

In the 23 years since Gastr Del Sol fell apart, David Grubbs has done many things that don’t sound much like his old band with Jim O’Rourke. And Taku Unami has worked in such varied settings and ways that the most persistent quality of his engagement with sound is its ability to induce question marks and ellipses in any train of thought intending to decode it. So, it’s both remarkable and delightful that this record, the duo’s second collaboration, sounds rather like parts of Gastr Del Sol’s Upgrade & Afterlife. The foundation rests upon the way two guys who can and do play intricate guitar duets make subtle use of other elements — creeping acoustic piano, humming synthesizer, urban field recordings — to make music that thickens atmosphere and accumulates mystery with such subtlety that you don’t notice it until you’re in it.

Bill Meyer  

 Guided by Voices — Mirrored Aztec (Guided by Voices Inc.)

I know, I know, it’s another Guided by Voices record, the fifth since 2019, but hear me out. Pollard is still tapped into the fuzzy, rackety, melodic sap of the rock and roll universe, and he has only to knock his hammer a few times against the gnarled tree of life to extract more of what sustains us. Shorter version: he can do this all day, every day, without any noticeable let-up in quality. So, let us celebrate another batch of Who-like power chords, of rumbling drums and monumental bass thuds, of melodies that curve out delicately like spring’s first vines, then thicken into thundering climaxes and triumphant refrains. Let us give thanks again for inscrutable lyrics that drift off into poetry then pull back in the most ordinary artifacts of the spoken word. “I Think I Had It. I Think I Have It,” crows Pollard in a voice that has been blasted by time but come out more or less intact, and yes, Bob, you still do.

Jennifer Kelly

  Edu Haubensak & Tomas Korber — Works for Guitar & Percussion (Ezz-thetics)

The celebrated Wandelweiser aesthetic serves as a loose overarching impetus for the four interpretations of compositions by Edu Haubensak and Tomas Korber that comprise Works for Guitar & Percussion. Classical guitarist Christian Buck and improvising percussionist Christian Wolfarth ply their instruments through pairing and isolation. Essayist Andy Hamilton describes context by delineating a distinction between music (based in the language of tones) and soundart (which is non-tonal) and placing the duo’s interpretations in the opaque border between these realms. Repetition and timbral disparity frame Haubensak’s “On” while Korber’s “Aufhebung” applies scrutiny to microtonal diversity and temporal impermanence. Wolfarth fields Korber’s “Weniger Weiss” from behind snare drum, trading recurring stick rolls with varying segments of silence that compel ears accustomed to Western musical structures to consciously fill in the blanks. Haubensak’s solo “Refugium” finds Buck bending two closely tuned strings in an extrapolation of an Arabic maqam that feels tenuously connected to the form, at best.

Derek Taylor 

 Inseclude — Inseclude (Inseclude)

Brad MacAllister of CTRL and Blue Images and Benjamin Londa of Exit have been working in the darkwave and chillwave scenes for several years and their first album as Inseclude is a long distance collaboration that mines the darker side of 1980s alternative and electronic rock. From Pennsylvania, MacAllister sent musical ideas to Londa in Texas who added guitars, lyrics and vocals to produce a set of songs that are well made and enjoyable if largely unmemorable. There are a number of contemporary bands doing similar things — Hamilton’s Capitol and Manchester’s Ist spring immediately to mind — taking the Cure, New Order, Sisters of Mercy template and why not? Unfortunately, the passage of time and the law of diminishing returns have led to overfamiliarity with this style of music that makes for easy and perhaps unfair comparisons. When they stretch themselves, Inseclude’s songs do hit. “Sondera” and “Failing To The Pulse” carry some real menace with the juxtaposition of wide-angle synths and paranoid vocals but elsewhere the pair seem held back by a restraint and lack of bottom end that diminish the impact of some pretty decent songs.

Andrew Forell

 Kvalia — Scholastic Dreams Of Forceful Machines (Old Boring Russia)

Схоластические Грёзы Силовых Машин by Квалиа

Krasnoyarsk sits on the banks of the Yenisei river in southern Siberia and is known both for the natural beauty of its surrounding landscape and for its primacy as an aluminum producer. Local musicians Aleksander Maznichenko and Aleksey Danilenko reflect the latter on their new five track EP Scholastic Dreams Of Forceful Machines, an icy, metallic collection of post-industrial clang pitched somewhere between Einstürzende Neubauten and early Clock DVA. Their machines are forceful but cranky, rusted, near obsolete. Maznichenko keeps the thrum of turbines is steady but the drum machines lurch and thump, the keyboards whine and scream, the Russian vocals protest their obstreperous charges. Danilenko’s bass is post-punk elastic skipping amongst the raining sparks hinting at a will to dance with his mutant riffs. They sound like they mean it and the result is a terrific EP full of fire, fumes, steam and sweat.

Andrew Forell  

 Mezzanine Swimmers — Kneelin’ on a Knife (Already Dead)

Kneelin' on a Knife by Mezzanine Swimmers

These songs circle around noise-crusted, repetitive beats, the drumming stiff and mechanical, the riffs chopped to short bursts, the vocals woozy and distended. “Sexy Apology” reiterates a three-note keyboard lick ad infinitum, as main Swimmer Mike Smith drawls the title phrase, similarly on repeat. Yet within this unchanging structure, chaos erupts in detuned keyboards, miasmic feedback and corrosive noise. It’s hard to say whether these songs are too tightly organized or too loose, a bit of both really, and yet, get past the headachy thud and there’s an unhinged psychotropic transport. No one ever said that kneeling on knives would be comfortable.

Jennifer Kelly

 Mosca — The Optics (Rent)

Mosca · The Optics [RENT001]

Part of the initial wave of neon-infused dubstep hedonism surrounding the Night Slugs camp at the turn of the last decade, Mosca’s Tom Reid has since survived on the strength of a regular slot behind the decks at NTS and sparingly deployed releases on such renowned labels as Numbers, Rinse, Hypercolour and Livity Sound. “The Optics” debuts his new Rent imprint, conceived as a way to get out music that doesn’t fit in elsewhere. (Originally, this was to be an a-side for a coming AD93 release, but as he says, “There's only so long you can keep a track with a baby crying in it back from the masses.”) Supposedly inspired by the Under the Skin beach scene, the five-minute track immediately throws you off with a dub-heavy shuffle and metallic, alien sounds that zoom around the mix. The main thrust of the melody arrives around a minute in, and gradually the sounds close in on you. There’s bells, birds, a baby crying and then, just when you’re feeling completely stressed out, it all falls away; a driving jungle rhythm carries you the rest of the way. Deeply satisfying dance from a head who hasn’t lost his way.

Patrick Masterson  

 Prana Crafter/ragenap — No Ear to Hear (Centripetal Force Studio/Cardinal Fuzz)

No Ear to Hear by Prana Crafter / ragenap

When Robert Hunter, the poet who wrote lyrics for the Grateful Dead’s “Dark Star,” “Ripple,” “Truckin’,” “Terrapin Station” and many other songs, died in late 2019, long form psych musicians Prana Crafter (William Sol) and ragenap (Joel Berk) mourned separately but simultaneously. The night he died, both took solace in improvised music, which didn’t so much evoke or represent Hunter, but captured some of their feelings about his work and their loss. When they talked, soon after, they found that both had made lengthy open-ended meditations on the same person. Those two extended pieces make up No Ear to Hear. Prana Crafter’s entry, “Beggar’s Tomb,” is weighted and slow moving, building gradually from simmering drones into towering edifices of feedback and dissonance. Although performed largely on guitar, the sound is filtered through gleaming effects and layers into astral strangeness, a mystic’s trip through mental interiors. ragenap’s “Nightfall” also takes shape slowly out of looming sustained notes and black velvet quiet and sounds that scratch and vibrate at the edges. A solitary acoustic guitar takes up space at the forefront finally, carving a hesitant melody across the hum. The tune turns fuller and more agitated as it progresses, adding layers of feedback and distortion. Neither of these pieces sounds much like the Grateful Dead, and of course, neither has any sort of lyrics. I doubt that anyone, hearing this album for the first time would say, “Oh yeah, Robert Hunter.” And yet inspiration works in strange and, in this case, fruitful ways. You can enjoy this even if you don’t like the Dead.

Jennifer Kelly

 Raven Throne — Viartannie (Chroniki Źmiainaj Ciemry) (self-released)

Viartannie (Chroniki Źmiainaj Ciemry) /The Return (The Chronicles of the Serpent Darkness) by RAVEN THRONE

These Belorussian black metal veterans are true materialists. On their seventh album, they show that nature is a social construct, not something given. And boy, their nature is not a loving mother. Unlike many metal bands convey nature via field recordings, Raven Throne craft their ferocious sounds with guitars and drums. Aren’t these as natural instruments as stone and wooden sticks? The atmospheric black metal subgenre has been contaminated by pop and folksy metal so that it’s hard to maintain a truly evil sound, while still bringing the atmospheric elements into it. Raven Throne pull it off. This is how darkness should sound.

Ray Garraty  

 The Slugs — Don’t Touch Me I’m Too Slimy (2214099 Records DK)

Don't Touch Me, I'm Too Slimy by The Slugs

The Slugs are an exuberantly lo-fi punk pop duo out of London who bash and thump and shout short, acidic ditties about being female, in a band, under assault and under the weather. Liberty Hodes, who is also one half of the comedy duo A Comedy Night that Passes the Bechdel Test, plays a jangling, forceful electric guitar, while her Phoebe Dighton-Brown bangs away in brutal simplicity on the drums. Both sing, sometimes in unison, sometimes in rough harmonies, occasionally in slashing counterparts. (One chants “Feel sick/can’t be sick” while the other rolls out mellifluous “ah-ah-ah-ahs” in “Feel Sick.”) There is a charming, unstudied quality to their music, which is a bit too smart and biting to be primitive, but nonetheless eschews frills. It’s hard to pick favorites—the whole EP is over in five tracks and 11 minutes—but “Pest” is giddy fun, with its slouching, battering guitar-drum motif and slacker choruses. The shout along chorus of “Don’t touch me! I’m too slimy!” is the best thing on the record, hitting a rebellious, unwashed spot of resonance in the work-from-home era. Second best, the gleeful tirade about sleazy male promoters in “Girly Gang” (“Give you all the gigs if you touch my wang”), which builds in round-singing euphorias until it ends suddenly and a la Jane Austen in matrimony (“Married in a dress by Vera Wang”). People are comparing the Slugs to the Shaggs, but that’s just short-hand for banging away anyway without all the training. The Slugs are smarter, slyer and more autonomous, and if they sound a little rough, that’s exactly how they meant to sound.

Jennifer Kelly

Tobin Sprout — Empty Horses (Fire)

Empty Horses by Tobin Sprout

Blessed with one of the finest names in music (alongside dEUS’s Klaas Janzoons), Tobin Sprout is best known for being part of the Guided by Voices line-up that created classic albums such as Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes in the 1990s. Though Sprout’s subsequent solo output has been a steady stream compared to Robert Pollard’s deluge, Empty Horses is his eighth solo album. In it, the now-65-year-old ruminates faith, mortality and American history atop a spare, country-tinged backing. There’s a deep ache to many of these songs, the kind of emotional weight that manifests in pointedly low tempos, sparse drum parts that hang behind the beat and vocal performances that are almost uncomfortably intimate. Running to a succinct half-hour, with many of the songs clocking in at just a couple of minutes each, Empty Horses confronts demons seemingly too pernicious to overcome. Yet, when the music becomes more expansive — such as the graceful pedal steel of “Breaking Down,” the woozy modulation of “Antietam,” or the biting fuzztone of “All In My Sleep” — Sprout sounds like he may be on the verge of making a much-needed breakthrough.

Tim Clarke  

 Son Lux — Tomorrows I (City Slang)

Tomorrows I by Son Lux

Son Lux’s songs embed unsettling sounds in deep wells of silence, finding disturbing textures in string sounds, electronics, percussion and the fluttering soul falsetto of founder Ryan Lott. Tomorrows I, reportedly the first of three related albums, has a quietly dystopian vibe and a moist, echoing unease that might remind of you Burial’s classic Untrue. A brief, looped, keening violin motif punctures the opening cut, “Plans We Made” with all the threat of Bernhard Hermann’s shower music for the film Psycho, while Lott trills haunted phrases about being afraid to let go. “Undertow,” near the end, brings in a whole string quartet to swoon dissonantly, as a knocking beat (drummer Ian Chang) sounds like a body being dragged across the floor. “Just waiting for the undertow,” sings Lott in the dread empty spaces between, in arias of muted desolation. Minimalist and menacing and mesmerizing.

Jennifer Kelly

 Ulaan Janthina — Ulaan Janthina (Part 1) (Worstward)

Ulaan Janthina (Part I) by Ulaan Janthina

Steven R. Smith contains multitudes, and Ulaan Janthina is the latest manifestation of his mutating musical self. This release exemplifies three aspects of Smith’s practice. First, he likes to make beautiful things. Hard copies of this tape come in a custom-oriented box that contains tinted photos, shells and printed communications as well as the cassette. And he’s project-oriented. While other iterations have been devoted to an Eastern European vibe, or guitar noise or a virtual ensemble sound, Ulaan Janthina results from a decision to work primarily with the keyboards in his house. It’s a winning strategy, since his synthesizers, organ and harmonium all benefit from the grittiness of Smith’s recording methodology, and his spare playing style makes his melodies stand out quite starkly from the background atmosphere. Like the name says, this is part one of the Janthina (named for a genus of sea snail that makes its own floating platform — not a bad metaphor for the survival-oriented independent musician) venture; a second, similarly packaged cassette is pending from Smith’s Worstward imprint soon, and a future release is already planned by Soft Abuse records.

Bill Meyer

 Various Artists — Spr Blk: Liberation Jazz and Soul From the '70s and Beyond (Paxico)

Liberation Jazz and Soul by Marcus J. Moore

Author Marcus J. Moore (late of The Nation but also found everywhere from Pitchfork to WaPo) has a book on the way in October, The Butterfly Effect: How Kendrick Lamar Ignited the Soul of Black America. In advance of its release via cassette devotees Paxico, Moore cobbled together “rare and somewhat familiar” Black music from his own crates. “These are the kinds of songs I play when walking through New York City or driving through Maryland,” he says in the release. What that means for you is a two-sided mix that burns slower on the A and gets more percussion-heavy on the B. Leading off with Doug Carn’s fittingly titled “Swell Like a Ghost” and featuring jams from Willie Dale, Milton Wright, Ronald Snijders and other lesser jazz, soul and funk lights, it’s a revealing mix that will no doubt pair well with that fall reading you’re about to get going on.

Patrick Masterson 

 Vatican Shadow — Persian Pillars of the Gasoline Era (20 Buck Spin)

Persian Pillars Of The Gasoline Era by Vatican Shadow

Dominick Fernow is hugely prolific, and most folks with ears tuned to the densely churning worlds of noise and industrial music will be familiar with his abrasive, unsettling output under the Prurient moniker. Fernow’s releases as Vatican Shadow are fewer in number, and more attuned to ambient, even melodic movements and textures. That’s sort of odd, given that the Vatican Shadow records thematize and explore Fernow’s obsession with the history of the Middle East, especially post-9/11 collisions of Western military force, Islamic traditions of resistance and the tactics of terror used by both sides. Relaxing stuff, that ain’t. Consistent with the larger project’s tendencies, Persian Pillars of the Gasoline Era claims an interest in the CIA-coordinated Iranian coup (MI6 helped out, too, those imperial scamps) that deposed Mohammed Mossadeq, installed the Shah Reza Pahlavi and inaugurated some of the principal tensions that have shaped the last half-century of world history. It’s unclear how Fernow’s pulsing, shimmering, sometimes juddering synth sounds are meant to represent or otherwise engage that history. For sure, record art and song titles summon all the right semiotics, sometimes with an interesting edge. But “Taxi Journey through the Teeming Slums of Tehran” sounds more like a malfunctioning MP3 player than a taxi or a “teeming slum” (can we all be done with that phrase now?), and “Moving Secret Money” is pleasantly trance-inducing, rather than insidiously evil. Musically, it’s quite good. The packaging seems to want strike other notes. Maybe that’s the point — too many folks are too busy consuming quietist pop to bother with the grind of the political. But is this the intervention we need?  

Jonathan Shaw

[wwxnka]

We FINALLY have Wizard!Wonka up! Honestly, it’s been long overdue, but no-matter. Let’s get his backstory written down!

Under the cut, naturally.

Willard Theodore William Wonka was born to two pure-blooded parents, Wilbur Wonka and Fabienne Wonka (née Ollivander). Fabienne was the younger sister of Garrick Ollivander, the man known for being perhaps the greatest wandmaker in the world, and the pair were very close. Thus, Garrick was very heavily involved in his nephew’s upbringing, and the young Wonka in turn grew to hold an immense amount of love and affection for him.

Garrick wanted his nephew to be chosen by a wand as soon as possible, so, at the tender age of six, Wonka was taken to his uncle’s shop in Diagon Alley, where he spent the entire afternoon attempting to use all manners of wands - short wands, long wands, oddly-shaped wands - until, finally, he was chosen by a specimen made of Holly, with a Phoenix feather core, 14 1/2 inches in length and with a surprisingly springly flexibility. His uncle took particular note of the match between the wood and the core, a rare pairing which he found nearly impossible to achieve except in the most exceptional of circumstances. Garrick foresaw this as an early sign of the young Wonka’s unique personality.

At the age of 10, Wonka became an orphan when his parents, employees at the British Ministry of Magic, were brutally murdered by dark wizards during a hostage situation. Garrick Ollivander then assumed parental responsibility for the boy.

Upon starting his tenure at Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw, and almost immediately excelled in his studies, with Charms, Potions, Herbology and Transfiguration being his particular favourites. He became a prefect and graduated with near-perfect NEWTs (a poorly-timed sneeze during his Transfiguration exam ensured that he only achieved an Exceeds Expectations). He and his uncle wrote to each other frequently, and, after he graduated, he briefly lived with him, before eventually moving to the United States in order to establish his business.

Wonka had developed an intense interest in the affairs of muggles from his first few days at Hogwarts, after his first Muggle Studies class. By the time he was preparing for his NEWT exams, he had decided that his career would involve him existing between the muggle and wizarding worlds, testing its boundaries to see just what he could get away with without revealing himself. That, combined with a love for candy, chocolate and mischief, moulded into an idea that would form the foundations of his latest business ventures. 

However, only a few years into his work, the First Wizarding War broke out, and Wonka returned to the UK in order to aid in the fight against Voldemort. He swiftly joined the Order of The Phoenix, developing good friendships with the likes of Albus Dumbledore, the Weasleys and the Potters in the process, and quickly established himself as a gifted fighter. After the end of the war, he was offered a position as an Auror, but declined, instead opting to go back to the States and continue where he left off - and, that is where he remains to this day.

Although he does not see his uncle often, the two keep in regular touch. Wonka still adores him, and Garrick in return offers his full support to his nephew’s endeavours - even if he doesn’t quite understand some of it at times. Now and again, he’ll hear talk of an impending Second Wizarding War, brought about by Voldemort’s return and threatening the lives of countless more wizards, witches and muggles alike - and, if the time comes, he’ll be more than willing to pick up his wand and fight again.

In the meantime, he is quite happy to live a quiet life - just him, his factory, his magic and his ideas.

[micoco]

FOOD WASTE

At the beginning, my three broad topics are introverts, food and body size. And I want to combine food and body image. I found some people have eating disorders who are anxious about their body figures. However, I do not want to talk about beauty (body image) here, or there are other ways I can go if anyone has any other suggestions! Thank you so muchhhhh! 

So I decided to only focus on food, specifically food waste. I was interested in this area because the food live broadcast (MukBang) is so popular right now through eating a lot of food, much more than normal adults. Then some of them were exposed that they vomited food after eating or during eating because of fake video editing.

Through these phenomenons, I wanted to talk about the food waste! It is still a broad topic, It is related to a lot of things. Combined with research, I will list them as much as I can. (I don’t know if we should ask more questions or write down what we have researched until now……)

1.Food wastes in manufacturing & society 

- Why are there so many food wastes in manufacturing? It includes how many different kinds of waste like issues in machines or employees’ management or others?

- Do any legislation in food manufactures prevent more food wastes? 

- In the holistic food chains, why is food manufacturing important in this chain? How many different fields is it related to? 

- How and why food waste in manufacturing will have important effects on others such as food businesses or customers, or the environment? 

- Any management or methods to prevent food manufacturing wastes? 

- The problems have lasted for a long time, why is it difficult for manufacturers to change and reduce the food wastes, any social or financial reasons? 

- As customers or food businesses, do they care more about issues during food manufacturing?

- Research core words from “Food industry wastes” : recycled society: reuse, avoid, recover, treat… / Green production which combines manufacturing industry and industrial ecology / Sustainability / Combine societal system and natural ecosystem (Some words I think relate to this areas) 

- MORE>>>

1.1. Methods: 

- Interview with food manufacturing managers:Any approach and methods they did to prevent the food wastes and food loss? 

- Taking videos and photos of working in the food manufacturing: How they work there and show the realistic senses of their ways to deal with food wastes or food loss?

- Surveys with customers: Do they care more about food manufacturing? Do they look at the dates and labels of food manufactures on the food packaging? How do they understand them? 

- MORE>>>

1.2. Research references: 

- Book: “Food waste and food labelling issues affecting the durability” 

- Book: “Food Industry Wastes: Assessment and recuperation of commodities” by Colin Webb and Maria R. Kosseva 

- Book: “Handbook of Lean Manufacturing in the food industry” by Michael Dudbridge 

- MORE>>>

2. Food safety: 

- Relating to food manufacturing, how can they prevent food safety problems? Why is it so important in the whole food chain? 

- For each part of the food chain, can they reduce the food waste and maintain the food safety at the same time? 

- What are the challenges to food safety? How can people measure food safety? 

- Looking at the food products in the markets right now, are they purely safe? 

- What different elements are related to food safety from production to consumption? 

- MORE>>>

2.1 Methods: 

- Interviews with food manufacturing managers: How do they maintain food safety?  Any important requirements for machines to workers? 

- Same interviews to the food businesses: restaurants, hotels or canteens, how do they deal with the problems? During the process, do they have more food wastes, or less? 

- Datas to show the food wastes during manufacturing. Different countries and different kinds of food…...

- Surveys or questionnaires of customers or businesses: What kind of levels they cared about food safety? Any different social background or educational background will influence them? Do they have basic knowledge on food safety? Do they trust any products or food products which are called high food safety? Any thoughts on relationship with food wastes and food safety

- MORE…..

2.2 References: 

- Book: “Make it safe: A guide to food safety” by Cairo Food CSIRO Food and Nutritional Sciences 

- Book: “Consumer Food Safety” by Chris Griffith 

- Food Radiation scanner to measure the food safety https://designawards.core77.com/2014/recipients/food-radiation-scanner/index.html

- Tupperware-style to show the food lifespan https://www.dezeen.com/2018/05/29/smarterware-ovie-smart-tupperware-internet-of-things-food-waste/

3. Food business: restaurants, hotels or canteens 

- After food manufacturing, why do they also have a lot of food wastes? Any influences on the environment and customers?

- How do they deal with the food wastes? Any good methods? Do they have chances to avoid food wastes?

- Why do food services (hospitality) also relate to food waste?

- For special situations like quarantine, do they have more food wastes or less, how do they deal with foods?  Any different bad or good effects will happen on them because of the special time?  

- I cannot think more…..

3.1 Methods

- Interviews I wrote before, also ask owners or workers in restaurants, hotels or canteens: how much food wastes they have per day? How do they deal with that? Do they have any awareness of food wastes and MORE…/ any costs on food, services…..

- Data on food wastes in food businesses

- Questionnaires: How customers look at food wastes in the food business? How do they think about some existing methods of preventing food wastes like “finishing 90% of your dishes” in a buffet……

- Taking videos and photos on restaurants or hotels I wrote before. 

3.2 References: 

- Book “Prevention of food waste in restaurant, hotels, canteens and catering” Talking about the avoidable food wastes / the relationship with food wastes with hospitality (food services) / some methods they used. 

- CULINARY SLOW FOOD PROJECT 

4. Consumers & others: 

- For consumers, what do they think about the food wastes in different industries? Do they have strong or less awareness of it? 

- During pandemic time, why have people changed behaviors and thoughts on food? They wanna to be more healthy or unhealthy? Do they have new different thoughts on food wastes? How many kinds of elements they relate to the customers’ behavioral changes, such as economics, sociology or psychology? 

- How can they avoid food wastes in daily life? If they have changed, what kind of results will happen, massive or small? 

- Why is connecting with relationships with food important? Such as through five senses? Do they largely affect people? 

- Do they know well about the different kinds of food? Are problems of food packaging as serious as food wastes? Do they relate with each other? 

- MOREEEEE - questions written before. I can not think more. 

4.1 Methods

- Questionnaires: Do they have different levels of awareness of food wastes(social, educational backgrounds) / any reasons they change the behaviors or thoughts on food? / do they accept the new innovation on food? 

- Data on consumers’ food waste 

4.2 References: 

- Change the way of looking at food . https://www.media.mit.edu/projects/transformative-appetite/overview/

- 3D printing food waste / different ways of using food waste / change the ways https://www.dezeen.com/2018/10/03/upprinting-food-elzelinde-van-doleweerd-beijing-design-week-upprinting-food-design/ https://www.dezeen.com/2017/11/29/creative-ideas-change-food-marije-vogelzang/https://www.dezeen.com/2016/12/29/universal-studio-produces-colourful-chocolates-from-3d-printed-moulds/

- Value our food in a different ways to reduce food waste: Good Food https://designawards.core77.com/Interaction/61179/GOOD-FOOD-Empowering-Food-Decisions

- Sage Project https://www.core77.com/posts/54916/Sage-Project-is-Changing-the-Way-We-Learn-About-Food

- Food Maps https://designawards.core77.com/2014/recipients/food-maps/index.html

- Ted Talks about how senses change the ways we look at the food? 

FINISHED

[aroworlds]

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.  

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?  

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn’t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you  … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.  

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.  

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.  

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @ultimatedeviant. Here’s some sexy vampire action. 😉

Words: 2813 Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, alcohol consumption, smut

Fucker. You hated him. Perhaps you always had. Perhaps your hatred for him had been so intense you had mistaken it for love. How could you be so stupid? Of course he would cheat on you. For months on end, your now ex-boyfriend had neglected you—he rarely bothered to show up at your place after work, he never took you out on dates anymore and then when you finally met, he was usually moody and grumpy, leading to one-minute-sex which left you all but unsatisfied. The next morning, he expected breakfast and coffee to be ready for him and then he left, sometimes even without kissing you goodbye.

The worst, however, had been his anger and aggressive behaviour. He had only hit you once, yet it had been enough for you to wake up and realise you were trapped in an abusive relationship. You were upset. Upset with yourself and upset with your stupid ex. Now there were two options. You could either crawl into bed with a bar of chocolate and gummy bears, watching cheesy romance movies and cry surrounded by a dozen used tissues or you could say fuck you and go out to have a drink.

It was Monday night—none of your friends were willing to spend the evening in a dimly lit club but that wouldn’t stop you. You felt confident when you entered shortly after 11pm and headed straight to the bar to buy a pint. The first out of many… you had already asked a cab company to come pick you up at two just to be safe.

Inside the club, it was as loud as usual. The bass was humming in your chest, your ears ringing. The best part of this club was its music and especially on a Monday night, it wasn’t as intensely crowded as it was on the weekends—it was the perfect time to get drunk and pity yourself.

Adam glanced up from his flask when he spotted the young girl approaching the bar right next to him, his blue gaze, hidden by dark sunglasses, instantly wandering down to your bare neck. He could practically sense the delicious vein pumping right under your skin.

Hissing quietly, he forced his eyes back up. You had ordered a pint—and he liked your voice, he decided. Mutely, he watched you pay and bring the glass to your lips to empty almost all of it in one go. Shit. Easy.

He had never seen a girl drink like that. You were either incredibly stupid or incredibly desperate. Either way, whatever it was, as he studied your profile and body, he could not take his eyes off you even though he knew it would best to forget about it. He knew how this would end. If he took you home for some fun, he would bite you—and if he bit you, he would have to kill or turn you to make sure you did not spill his little secret.

Oh yes… a really bad idea. He would watch you for a while, fantasise and leave it at that. It was why he did not fail to notice that you tensed up when you spotted a blonde man in the crowd whose distorted expression darkened when he found you at the bar.

You were about to move away, away from him too without even knowing he was more interested in you than in the music in the club.

“(Y/N)… come on, we need to talk.”

“No. You need to fuck off, Jared.” Adam heard you snap. (Y/N). So that was your name. It suited you. Who was that and why was he bothering you? He could sense the violence radiating off of this guy and he figured quickly that it had to be your ex-boyfriend—which would also explain why you drank so much. The break-up must have happened very recently. This guy wanted you back. Or something else. Adam growled, unable to comprehend why he would even consider helping you.

“Jared, no!”

Mine, a carnal voice whispered in his head. She is mine.

Adam rose from his seat when Jared wrapped his hand around your arm to yank you towards him, making him growl yet again. The urge to protect you was boiling within him, almost as if an invisible force was pulling him to you. It might have been the animal inside of him that wanted him to own you but he was not going to let Jared take you away from him. Bloody zombies…

“I believe the lady said no, Jared.” He snarled threateningly. The human turned his head to him so fast any other man would have felt intimidated. He was aggressive—and without a doubt he had hit you before. Adam longed to rip his throat out there and then.

“Who the fuck are you, mind your own business!”

The vampire blinked, relieved that his blue eyes were hidden by the dark sunglasses which luckily failed to reveal his slowly darkening irises until he was ready to pounce and attack.

“Let go of her.”

Much to his surprise, he did—only, however, to instead approach him. Men around them turned away in a desperate attempt not to witness the imminent club brawl. Yet when Jared lunged out, the moment his fist was to connect with Adam’s face, he caught it in mid-air seemingly without any effort at all and held it so tightly Jared’s fingers began to crack. If he squeezed any harder, he would break his hand—and he was sure that he was very well aware of that—aware enough to realise he would not stand a chance against him.

He heard you gasp despite the loud music, noticing your shocked and at the very same time impressed expression out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, let go, fuck, let go! That’s not worth it, fuck…” Jared cursed and turned back to you when Adam released his hand and he shook it with a whine. “I really hope he’ll fuck you better than I did. This is not over yet.”

You let out a relieved breath when he shot you one last, angry glare and then elbowed his way through the crowd—away from you.

“Thank you.” You said genuinely. Whoever he was, he had probably just saved you a lot of pain and violence; even if the fact he was wearing sunglasses and gloves inside freaked you out just a tiny little bit.

The stranger nodded calmly, sitting back down. “Can I buy you another drink?” What was he doing? For Fuck’s sake…

“Look… I’m really grateful for your help but...” You stopped yourself. He was seriously hot. And if there was one thing that would bother Jared’s giant ego the most, it would be you actually fucking someone else. “Actually… yes. I would love that. Thank you. I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Adam.” Adam. Adam, the mysterious stranger. You liked that and somehow… somehow he fascinated you. Those sunglasses, the gloves… the black hair and his smooth voice… it almost felt like he was hypnotising you. Had that been that… exciting tingling, making the hairs on your neck stand when you had ordered your first drink? That awkward feeling of being watched? You swallowed thickly.

It took you ten whole minutes to tell him all about your boyfriend—the beer making you talkative and, despite his sunglasses, you did not fail to notice that he seemed to be fixed on your neck. Did he have a thing for that? Your neck was your most sensitive area… your heart skipped a beat when you imagined his thin and soft lips plastering feather-light kisses on your skin, making you sigh… aroused, you clenched your legs.

“How did he know you would be here then?” Adam asked just then. He himself had not ordered a drink—instead, he kept sipping from that silver flask he had brought.

“It’s my favourite club. One of my friends must have told him. They don’t know we broke up yet.”

“I see.”

For a moment, silence spread between you—he wouldn’t exactly say much about himself. You merely knew he was a musician and that he lived not far from here. You appeared to like the same kind of music, apart from that he remained utterly mysterious.

“Would you like to dance with me?” You asked, hoping to break that scrutinising gaze he seemed to be meeting you with.

“No. I don’t dance.”

“Oh…”

“Let me take you home.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Let me take you home. My car is parked on the other side of the street.”

“You drank.” You stated, pointing at his flask.

“Not alcohol.” Your frown deepened.

“W-why don’t we call a taxi? Pick up your car tomorrow…”

But Adam knew you wouldn’t make it home and he wasn’t going to fuck you in front of the taxi driver… let alone drink your blood.

“I promise you it’ll be safe.” Filthy liar. You’re pushing her right into the arms of the next monster. But there was another voice, too. Mine, it said. Mine. He wanted you so much it hurt—and he could already feel his fangs pressing against his gums painfully.

Next thing you knew he had already pushed you on the backseat of his car, his mouth coming crashing down on yours. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close as he climbed inside himself and shut the door. A silent click indicated he had locked it so you would be undisturbed.

Fighting for dominance he quickly was rewarded with, Adam’s tongue slipped between your lips, deepening the kiss. Eagerly, he devoured your body, his hands exploring your breasts and curves with bare palms, the gloves long abandoned. It only took him five minutes to undress you enough for him to feast his eyes on you—dark with lust and hunger when he took off his sunglasses.

“Adam, please…” Wriggling underneath him, right against that growing and impressive bulge in his black trousers, you reached for a condom in your bag—a pathetic reminder from your ex-boyfriend as he had loved quickies in public—and handed it to him. Adam took it without a word. Only reluctantly did he break the kiss to rip it open with his teeth all the while fumbling around with the buttons of his trousers to free his aching member. You gasped when you watched him roll the condom over, automatically spreading your legs further. You had never thought a cock beautiful before and yet… his was. Leaking precum already, you were both more than ready to forget reality for a bit.

Your nails dug into his shoulders when he bent down to bury his face in your neck, his tip pressing against your entrance which gave in with little resistance. Moaning in unison, he sheathed himself inside you to the hilt, your cunt moulding around him as if you had been made for one another.

Adam wasted no time. Gentleness was not what this was about anyway. You were tipsy and you needed a distraction, someone who would fuck you better than Jared. So why was your heart beating so fast when you looked into his dark eyes? You loved them… like you could gape right into his soul.

You held your breath when he started moving inside you, retreating almost entirely only to plunge back into you, fucking you senseless. His name spilled from your lips repeatedly—his fierce movements making your breasts bounce rhythmically along with his hips.

With every single thrust, he lured you closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm and fuck, the idea of making sex pleasurable for you too had never even struck Jared—your fingers did the job long after he had fallen asleep but Adam… Adam knew exactly how to pamper you with his cock.

“Mine…” He growled but you were too caught up in your own bliss than to realise the gravity of this one word. It only took a couple more thrusts for you to shatter into millions of tiny pieces underneath him, screaming his name as you came undone and let pleasure consume you whole. Your walls contracted around him repeatedly, milking him for all he was worth and making him groan. Adam stilled—it almost seemed like he was trying to climb right inside of you as he too climaxed, twitching and pulsing inside of you. In this very moment, it was a shame he was wearing a condom.

“I’m sorry…” He suddenly whispered, his hot breath ghosting over your neck.

“What are you… talking about?”

He did not need to answer. His response was a sharp pain as he bit you, two long fangs burying itself in your delicate skin. Squealing, you attempted to pull away when he began to suck the blood from the wound, moaning hungrily against you.

Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck! Was he a freak after all? What kind of man bit and licked up your blood after sex? But then again… what kind of man had fangs in the first place? Panicking, you flung your arms about, desperate to push him away—because what scared even more was that you were beginning to enjoy it.

“Adam… Adam, please, stop!”

You did not know why he listened or why he stopped himself from drinking you dry there and then. A red trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth when he retreated, his pale face both scary and fascinating in the dark.

“Oh my God… that’s… that’s why you decided to help me! Why you offered me to buy a drink! God… I would have been fine with being a one night stand… I mean… that’s what I had in mind. But you’re… you’re even worse than him! As if this day wasn’t bad enough already… a fucking vampire…”

“(Y/N)…” He murmured. It was an eerie mixture of both threatening and soothing.

“I’m leaving right now.” The words spilled from your mouth before you had even considered their meaning. Frantically and uncaring about your nakedness, you reached for the door handle in a desperate attempt to get out of that damn car but as you should have expected, it would not budge.

“Let me out, let me go!”

“You know I can’t let you leave anymore.”

What scared you the most was that it wasn’t the fact he was a vampire—it was the fact he had used your vulnerability to have you for supper like a bloody goat. And by the looks on his face, he was surprised about that too.

“I won’t tell anyone. Adam… don’t kill me. Please. Just let me go.” Perhaps it was the alcohol that made you this reckless and calm both at the very same time. Vampire. You should be screaming, crying, begging… why didn’t you? When you looked into his which were now, suddenly, returning to its seemingly natural colour—a beautiful blue—what you felt for the man who had just gifted you an amazing orgasm was anything but disgust. You… liked him. He had saved you. God, you were desperate.

“I won’t kill you.”

He wasn’t lying. Adam tilted his head. Of course he would not kill you. Yes, it’s what he had predicted would have to happen in case he did decide to feast on you and yet… mine. He wanted so much more. He wanted you. All of you… not just your blood. Fuck, what would Eve think about that? Him being this crazy about a bloody zombie? He had not thought about harbouring romantic feelings for another woman for years… not since she had died and now, here you were… a helpless mortal woman in his clutches, to do with as he pleased.

An incredible rush of adrenaline and power rushed through him when he realised you belonged to him now. He wanted you to stay. Only he had no idea how he would accomplish that now that he had abused your trust.

He never thought he would be grateful for your violent ex-boyfriend to show up again with two of his friends just then, exiting the club and looking around as if looking for someone. You.

Nervously, your gaze wandered over to them, suspicion and fear spreading in your guts. Fuck… what was worse? Being with a vampire whom you had incredible sex with… or facing your ex-boyfriend yet again? The latter you dreaded. Indecisively, you glanced back at Adam.

“I can drive you home.”

Fuck it. You were going to jump out of the frying pan into the fire. Nodding and wiping your neck with your bare hand. When you drew back, you fingers were covered in blood. “Thank you.”

You didn’t need to know just yet he had no intentions to leave you once you had arrived. He was a predator, after all.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story I would be flattered if you supported me on KoFi! kofi.com/sserpente

[vyhtheas]

FFXIV: A Random Retelling Bit Dump:

I'm not really having a good day today..." Amethyrel'a signs to Vemmesera, looking troubled, hoping maybe she’ll think of something that’ll make him feel better, as she’s done multiple times in the past.

"I'm sorry to hear that...let me just..." She pulls out her deck Tarot Cards, shuffles them, pulls a few cards, before looking like she’s some she can work with.

"The cards seem to suggest that if I make you a bunch of your favourite cookies, it should improve the rest of your day."

"You...really just went through all of that just to get the idea to make...cookies?"

"I mean I was going to suggest brownies but cookies just seemed primed to provide the most positive vibes today...also they're faster to make"

____________________________

"Hey look what I did, I used magic to make a chocolate axe!" Vemmasera says excitingly to Ammathrel’a and Ulleonne, holding an large axe that looks like it is indeed fully made of chocolate”

"...Good for you..."

She takes a bite out of the axe "Nom"

"...how does it taste" Ulleonne says, concerned

"You know what, it actually tastes good, I used some chocolate and one of my axes as a mould to base onto, and it worked great!" she says, extremely proud of herself to have pulled off such a feat.

"That's actually pretty smart, good job! But...you're not going eat the whole thing are you?"

"...No...'

_______________________

Ammathrel’a and Vemmesera are out on a walk together in the Black Shroud, her get jumped be a bunch of Ixal, poised to attack them both.

"Hey..." Vemmasera says, with the look on her face that she’s about to drop her favourite pun.

Ammathrel’a: "Please don't..."

"Can I AXE them a question?"

"I...thought you were better than this..."

She laughs: "I'm not, I guess you could say I’m a PUNNY bunny!" Vemmesera says, all to proud of that joke.

_________________________

The scions are having a night all hanging out playing games, drinking, and relaxing after a busy week.

Thancred manages to beat Urianger in an arm wrestling match,

“Ha, that...that was too easy, now pay up like we agreed upon” Thancred says triumphantly, and somewhat slurred from drinking. “Now...I feel like I want to challenge someone else...a girl, I’ll throw in a bet of 20000 gil.”

“Of course you of all people want to challenge a woman, it’s the only way someone would willingly want to hold your hand” Y’shtola says.

“I...I would never! I just want to challenge someone who isn’t Ammathrel’a or Urianger.”

“As much as I dislike the notion, I’d rather you not be completely humiliated by Vemmasera, I’ll give it a go, and match you bet.” Ulleonne says reluctantly.

“Hah I accept your challenge!” Thancred says confidently.

“I...does he not realize how strong Ulleonne actually is...it’s because of the alcohol isn’t it? Vemmasera says to Ammathrel’a quietly.

“I bet 10000 gil against Thancred!” Yda spouts, slamming gil on the table.

“Ha, I’ll also be 10000, might as well take advantage of an opportunity” Y’shtola says, putting her own gil into the pile.

“Um...oh...” Thancred says, slowly realized he’s made a terrible mistake.

“Now then, lets get this over with shall we?” Ulleonne says with a big grin on her face, putting her hand out to start the challenge, with Thancred slowly bringing his had to meet hers”

__________________

Ulleonne is sitting in a chair reading a book, while Vemmasera walking into the room, holding Ammathrel’a my the scruff on the back of his shirt, with crumbs all over his face.

“He got into the cookies again...they’re all gone.”

Ammathrel’a pulls out another cookie, and starts eating it, seemingly unfazed by whats happening.

“Ugh...like a child! Well he see sure seems to have had quite the meal, send him to bed alone” Ulleonne says, pointing to the door leading to the bedrooms. “And no supper for him tonight, he’s had quite the meal already”

Vemmasera walks off with Ammathrel’a in tow, but Ammathrel’a realizing that he’s really messed up.

“I...couldn’t help but overhear, but that doesn’t seem to be much of a punishment...especially over something simple like eating too many cookies” Thancred says, a bit confused with what’s happening.

“See normally it’s not a problem, but Vemmasera was saving those cookies for Tataru’s birthday, and we weren’t able to tell Ammathrel’a to not eat them, but he should have known better. As for sending him to bed early, well he doesn’t like to be away from us, not that he’s too clingy, he just doesn’t like being alone, and you would be surprised how well something like this works”

___________________________

Ammathrel’a thinking of an extremely reckless and stupid plan to engage a pack of tough looking enemies.

"Whatever idea you have, we're not doing it, we’re going to take this cautiously, I know you’re used to fighting with Vemmasera and how she does things, but we are going to do things slowly, besides, you’re still recovering from your last bout"

"Oh yeah!? What what if I do my plan anyways?" Ammathrel’a signs to Thancred brazenly.

"If you do it, I’ll tell Y'shtola..."

"...So!?"

“Who will lecture you, and then go tell Ulleonne, who will be more that happy to tell you how much you messed up, and I don’t think you want Vemmasera to know either...do you?”

“You...you monster!” Ammathrel’a signs, looking as if Thancred’s words have reached it’s mark.

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"Our coffers are looking a little barer than usual this month, I don't know what to do other than cut some costs to get through this month...”

"I could do a sexy calendar shoot" Ammathrel’a signed, confident his idea would work.

Y'shtola almost chocks on her tea "I think we’ll come up with a less...frivilous idea, besides, I don’t think anbody need to see...something like that Ammathrel'a..."

"But...my girlfri-"

"Don't...you DARE finish that sentence" Ulleonne yells to Ammathrel’a

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Ammathrel’a and Urianger are at the table, eating breakfast when suddenly an sudden presence looms over Ammathrel’a, and Urianger is a bit shocked, until he realizes what said presence actually is.

“Good morning sweetie, I hope you slept well” Vemmasera goes in to give Ammathrel’a a kiss on the cheek.

“Ha, the two of you have quite the dynamic together, while it reminds me of... *ahem* it just does well to see how happy you two, and Ulleonne of course make each other happy” Urinager says smiling.

“We’re all just like a bunch of peas in a pod, as I...think the saying goes. I’ve been told our relationship brings a lot of positiveness to our friends, and I mean...look at Ammathrel’a, he’s such a cutie.” Vemmasera responds, rubbing Ammathrel’a’s head.

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