#i don’t smell the mold in the air today

[larrysblooming]

no because i just know he’s either going to pull up in pink and blue (forever) heart overalls or rainbow sparkle ones HAPPY PRIDE 🥹😭🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️❤️✨

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 3]

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n Oh, my god. When I tell y’all that everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I stayed up all night writing and editing just to get it out today, so you don’t have to wait another week when I’m off from work again. Yesterday, I was going to surprise y’all with a back to back upload, but when my laptop died and all of my content got deleted, I needed a pause. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Part 3 of a series I didn’t know would become a series.

[Part 2] Part 3

-> <-

You decide to wake up at five because your eyes wouldn’t stay shut any longer. Ripping the blankets off your body, the cool air nips at your skin. You shove your toes into your slippers. Tripping over your tennis shoes, you rethink how close you are to your desk. Feeling around for the corner, you find the desk and you begin to aim yourself the other way. You yelp when your waist collides into the doorknob and you silently curse to yourself while trying desperately not to wake your family. Shuffling through the dark, you take mini steps to your bathroom.

Closing the door behind you, you flick on bathroom light. Squinting, your eyes adjust and the shock of the bright room dulls. You use the toilet first, before your bladder combusts. While washing your hands, you meet your own face in the mirror.

Mornings weren’t your best look. Your hair mats to one side because you’re a side sleeper. Sometimes when your sick you’ll lay on your back to keep your stomach from getting nauseous. Instead of drying your hands on a towel, you toss them back into your hair to mold and shape what’s on your head. Massaging your scalp, you forget your worries for a moment. You wash your hands of the hair that sticks to your hands, and then you dry them off.

You bounce back from the shower when you twist the hot water handle. Water splashes in your face anyway. Steam breathes into your bathroom and you almost feel suffocated by the hot air. That’s what wakes you up in the morning. You strip, then step inside allowing the beads of hot water to bake your skin. The soap you use is plain and boring. It moisturizes the layers of your skin without leaving a scent behind. You watch the bubbles drain below you.

Leaving the shower is harder to you then getting back in. Your day will begin as soon as you step out. Going to school feels like a chore. Your classes all have projects due by the end of the week or by the end of the month. Then there’s the obvious boy you are trying to avoid. Before you can imagine any lewd situations between yourself and him (and trust that you have plenty), you switch off the water to your shower.

You don’t like washing your face in hot water, so you wait until your dry and you have a towel wrapped around your body. The icy water pricks at your pores. You dry, and you apply a thick layer of moisturizer to your skin.

Finding yourself vulnerable in a towel, and thrown into darkness once again because you have forgotten your clothes in your bedroom, you shimmy across the hallway once again.

When you choose a lotion, you act as though you won’t pick the same option you have been for as long as you can remember. The label reads ‘Fruity.’ Simple enough. Throwing on an extra spritz of perfume to compliment the lotion. You like to spray perfume while you’re bare to ensure the smell sticks to you, rather than your clothes.

Wrapping yourself in your robe, you want to take a peak at the sky. Rain clouds form above. Gray all day. You happen to, also, see that Eddie’s trailer is dark. Wayne Munson’s truck is on, and he’s in the driver’s seat waiting for the engine to warm. He goes to work early, and he stays late. That’s how you got to spend so many days and nights at Eddie’s growing up.

You’d tell your mom that you were spending the night with your friend Robin, and she would cover for you in a heartbeat. She must have known what was going on before you did. Did that even count - if you didn’t know?

You shy away from the window.

Going through your closet, you find an acceptable pair of denim that’s right on your hips and loose at your ankles. The striped sweater you call your favorite will scratch at you skin all day, so you put on a plain shirt on underneath.

If the you from a few months ago, saw you sitting at your desk whipping out all of the tools and the sponges that it took to apply makeup to your skin, you’d shrivel in a corner and cry. You got used to the feeling of the brushes against your skin. The way your face feels with a bit of foundation. And the sticky feeling of mascara pressing on your eyes.

As you finish powdering your nose, your stomach growls. Your hungry.

The sun is beginning to wake, and you’re able to move through the home a bit smoother. You find yourself in the kitchen pawing through the refrigerator. No one has gone grocery shopping in a few weeks, so your options are limited.

You take the box of Honey Comb cereal off the top of the fridge. A bowl off the drying rack will do, and there’s even a spoon next to it. You pluck out your mom’s cigarettes that she “hides” inside the box. She doesn’t count them when she smokes, so you know that you can sneak one into your pocket for later.

After pouring yourself a bowl of cereal, and stealing your mom’s cigarettes, you grab the milk from the fridge. It’s heavy. When you open the milk the rancid sour odor spoils your appetite.

“Jesus!” You curse.

The expiration reads about a week ago. Gross.

You toss the milk.

Even though you’re completely grossed out, you shovel a few bites of dry cereal down your throat. Dipping your head under the sink for a drink of water, you slurp down the crumbs sticking to the sides of your mouth.

By the time you’ve brushed your teeth, your watch reads seven fifteen in the morning. If you head to school now, you’ll be there by seven thirty.

That’s exactly what you do.

The drive is quiet. Most of the town hasn’t woken yet for their day. Shops still have signs in their window that read ‘Closed.’

You’re allowed into the cafeteria with the other early birds once you get to school. Finding a group of girls you’re in home room with, they welcome you for a study session.

“You look so pretty,” Michelle gushes over your makeup.

You smile. “You too. I love your shirt.”

“I got it on sale,” she tells you the name of the store. “We should all go shopping on Saturday.”

“Girls day out!” Lisa snaps her fingers. “Count! Me! In!”

The three of you small chat for a bit, before you dive into your awaiting assignments. They’re there to help you. You reciprocate the action when they want advise.

The school bell rings.

You pack up, and you wave goodbye for now. But, you’ll see them again in just a few moments when you get to class.

Heading to your locker for the first time in months, you have to try the code twice. The third time’s the charm. You take the specimen in your locker between your index and your thumb. Finding the nearest trash can, you throw the moldy sandwich away. At least the smell hadn’t penetrated through the bag yet.

You’re just zipping up your backpack after ridding yourself of about a hundred pounds of unnecessary textbook weight when someone shouts at the end of the hall.

Petty squabbles between students, you’re usually able to ignore. However, as all the noise is headed in your direction, you hear your name in between cursed and yells. A catastrophic tornado blows your way. Your feet are firm to the ground in terror.

Roxie’s purple, and about to blow a blood vessel judging by the vein nearly popping out of her neck. Hot on her trail is petite Indie, who’s begging for Roxie to just listen to her.

“Hey, you!” Roxie jabs her finger in your face.

Indie tumbled over her own feet, “Roxie!”

You check over your shoulder in hopes that someone might be there. No one is there except a few onlookers she’s drawn in her tirade. Now, you’re thinking. Eddie couldn’t have spilt the beans this quickly. Could he?

“Oh, I’m coming for you, bitch,” she snarls.

You’re toast.

Roxie is larger than you in all retrospects, but she’s especially big in muscle. If she’s about to pummel you, then you’ll be knocked over and split in two like a pin and she’s the ball going a hundred miles an hour.

“Can’t we talk this out?” Indie asks through gasps of air.

You stare between them. Indie isn’t after you by the worried expression she holds. Still unsure exactly what Roxie’s prattling on about, you decide to wait before you interject.

“Is there something going on between you and Eddie?” Roxie demands.

See, you knew their relationship wasn’t casual! Still, you did nothing wrong. Yesterday, you didn’t even express to Eddie that you liked him in the first place. You wanted to drop the conversation, and he kept going. This is his fault. Why isn’t he about to get a fist to the face? Who’s to say he hasn’t already? Yikes.

Roxie sucks her tongue to her teeth.

“Uh-,” you’re still loading in the information, and you hesitate to answer right away. “N- no?”

“Is that a question?” Her hot breath hits your nose.

You bring your hands down to your sides because you can’t let her see you trembling like a leaf. If she smells fear, she’ll know she’s won. Her prey is hers for the taking.

You’re tired of this. “Eddie and I have nothing going on. We’re just- just friends.”

You have a hard time saying that, but not for the reasons that Roxie has in mind. You’re not even sure if Eddie wants to be your friend anymore.

“Okay,” she sticks her tongue into the flesh of her jaw, and then says. “How come last night he moaned your name instead of mine?”

Blood rushes to your ears. Your face is on fire, and you’re sure everyone can see so.

Onlookers jeer and whisper amongst themselves. Rumors are already beginning from mouth to mouth; and, hitting ear to ear.

You would also like to understand what she meant by “moaning your name.” Spare the details. Obviously, you knew what happened last night. You wipe the winner’s smirk off your face, before Roxie even notices.

“I don’t know,” you fold your arms across your chest. “Shouldn’t you ask him?”

Roxie squares her shoulders. She clenched her fists until her knuckles are white. Cursing a few more angry words your way, she’s a bull ready to charge. You might as well be wearing all red.

“What’s going on here?!”

Miss Brown sticks her nose into the hallway and notices the crowd of people. Before anyone can do anything rash, she pushes her way into the center of the chaos. With an ostentatious sort of sigh that suggests she’s better than all of you, she starts breaking up the fight.

“Off to class,” Miss Brown shoo’s them.

“Let’s go, Roxie,” Indie grits her teeth.

Roxie eyes you one more time. “Fine. I’ll be seeing you later.”

You gulp.

It’s time to play a new game around school: Hide from Roxie! Winners get the very rewarding prize of not getting their face beat in.

You dart from class to class all morning. A huge target sticks to your back with Roxie aiming for a bullseye. Meanwhile, Eddie is still no where to be found. He’s probably hiding under his sheets at home, full of shame when he mistook your name for hers.

That’s just fine by you. You still didn’t want to see him either. Or, maybe you did. First, to clear the air about you liking him. A little flimsy crush isn’t going to break a friendship, right? You’ll get over it in time. Secondly, you’re sure that him naming you is a big misunderstanding. He just got distracted or something.

After lunch was over, you planned to sneak through Mr Campbell’s empty classroom. He doesn’t have afternoon classes, and you can easily shoot through since there is a door on either side of the hallway.

“Over there!”

Roxie has the cheerleaders involved now. No doubt they want a piece of judge, jury and conviction too.

Colliding into something solid, you topple over onto the tile. You’re swept away in thought and you forget to watch where your going. Mr. Campbell has that skeleton on wheels that he’ll leave just about anywhere. But, you haven’t knocked over that stupid skeleton.

It’s Eddie.

“Oh, God,” you rub your backside.

Eddie gasps, “What are you doing?”

“What am I-,” you snap. “What the hell are you doing? Your girlfriend almost tackled me like linebacker!”

Eddie shushes you. “Do you want her to hear? She’s not my girlfriend. I told you it’s casual.”

“Casual?” You want to yell, but you also don’t want her to hear. The last thing you need is for Roxie to see you in the same room as Eddie. “Whatever you have is not casual.”

“I messed up, okay?” He rubs his temple. “Jesus!”

Your chin lifts at the familiar brrring of the school bell. Now, you’re skipping class. You’ll get another hour of detention no matter if you stay here or go to class.

“You’re hiding from her too?” You conclude.

Detention doesn’t matter to Eddie. He just wants to ensure you’re okay. Judging by the way you’re creeping through empty classrooms, you’re doing just about as good as he is.

"I'm not hiding," he jumps when someone's locker slams. "Okay, so maybe I am hiding."

"This is so humiliating," you cry.

Eddie apologizes, “I’m sorry-,”

“You’re sorry?”

You’re grateful that the light in the room is limited. Otherwise, you don’t know if you could have a conversation with him right now. Eddie has these eyes that you could simply drown in.

“It was an accident,” he claims. “You’re the one who said-,”

“I didn’t say anything,” you correct him. “You’re the one with the wild imagination.”

“Wild imagination?!”

“Maybe I do like Jeff, hm? Or- or maybe I’ve come to realize that Gareth is a great guy. Did you think of that?” You stand before him, while he scrunches down into a chair. “Eddie Munson you’re selfish - no, you’re self centered. All about Eddie- it’s Eddie’s world and we’re all just there like puppets on strings.”

“You done?”

“No!” You snap. “Yes.”

“How could you call me self-centered when you’ve been prancing around this place like the rest of the guys don’t exist? Everyone wants to know where you are all the time. Why would I know? Oh, because you’re supposed to be my best friend,” Eddie rubs his hands across his face. “God, when did things get so complicated?”

"When you started calling me one of the guys in middle school, and I just wanted whatever you wanted,” you admit out loud. “Why do you think I changed when Gareth mentioned Roxie? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Eddie’s unreadable. Although dark, you can see his thoughts bubble and burst.

“It doesn’t matter,” you continue. “You don’t like me like that.”

“Who’s to say that?” Eddie’s voice comes out barely audible.

You shake your head. “Don’t pity me.”

Eddie kicks the stool from under him, “I’m not.”

“Eddie,” you pick at your nails. “What we have is a great friendship. I’m lucky that you’re in my life. I don’t want to risk messing that up. Are- are you okay with that? Are we okay?”

Eddie doesn’t want to leave the air so broken. While the words are spelled out in front of him, he can’t find a way to bring them out.

“We’re okay,” he says.

-> <-

Flicking a green bean on his plate with a fork, Eddie can’t be bothered to bring the food to his lips. Nothing passes his mouth. He watches the ice crystals on his steak defrost because he doesn’t want Uncle Wayne to worry that he’s messed up dinner, since this is the first one they’ve shared in a while. Wayne told his boss that he wanted to be home tonight for Eddie, and here he is.

“You’re not eating?” His uncle points out because Wayne has eaten half of his meal, and he worries that Eddie is appearing a bit gray and slender.

Eddie replies. “I ate a lot at school.”

“In the years that you’ve been under my roof, you haven’t stopped eating,” Wayne lowers his head to meet his nephew’s eye. “Try again.”

Eddie pushes the microwaved dinner aside. A low hum comes from the television, and he’s not even sure what’s on. Someone’s bobbing around like a baboon trying to make a woman smile. Yet another attempt from Wayne to make Eddie relive his childhood, he guesses.

“That girl your seeing isn’t pregnant is she?” Wayne presses when Eddie won’t talk. “Eddie Munson, I’ve told you to use a condom-,”

“No,” he cocks his head to rethink. “No, she’s not.”

Even if Roxie was pregnant, she’d get an abortion and make Eddie pay for it. Actually, he still owes her for the condoms.

Eddie wants to be done with women for a while. But, there is still this pinching on his ears that reminds him you’re still there. He’s actually wearing a pair of your studs that you forgot at his house one day. Since Eddie is prone to losing just about everything, he’s decided to wear them so they don’t get lost. No one even notices except for him. They hide behind his hair.

“Look,” Eddie wets his lips. “If I tell you, then you have to promise me you won’t do that weird ‘oooh’ thing you do. Got it?”

Wayne claps his hands together. Say no more. He’s solved the case! That little lady across the park has had her eye on him since the day Eddie moved in. Wayne really likes her. ‘Thinks she’s a great ball of sunshine that can keep Eddie under control. He’s been just waiting for Eddie to wake up and smell the coffee!

“Really?” Wayne excites.

Eddie exhales. “Don’t-,”

“Wait,” he lectures. “You’re not seeing both of them are you? Eddie Munson that is wrong, and I won’t tolerate that behavior. I taught you better.”

“No-,”

“Seriously, boy. Wear a condom. It’s not just for you, but her too you know?”

“Wayne-,”

“You can’t be spreading your butter on everyone’s toast.”

“Wayne!”

“I knew it,” he blabs on. “Ever since I caught you two brushing each other’s teeth. Oh, I saw this coming - I did!”

That incident happened once, and Wayne would never let Eddie live that down.

You smoke one joint.

After sitting in his room complaining of boredom, you tell Eddie you had never brushed someone else’s teeth before. He hadn’t either. You wanted to try. But, Eddie would only let you if the offer went both ways. Wayne burst in when you were scrubbing his tongue. You splattered toothpaste all over the mirror, while Eddie tried to keep you from squirming so he could scrub your teeth.

“You need to learn how to knock,” Eddie tries sailing with the conversation his old man is going on about.

Wayne challenges. “You know there’s no closed doors when you have girls over, Eddie.”

“Oh, my God.”

Reliving the memory, Eddie wants to make more with you. Cooking. You’ll cook. He’ll burn food. You’ll tell him he’s doing a wonderful job anyway because you’re too sweet to tell him to get out before he burns the house down. Eddie visions that you’ll teach him a better way to organize his clothes. You’ve already tried to show him how to fold, but Eddie only lasted a week doing your method before going back to shoving the clothes in whatever drawer is the least bit full. He’ll now admit that he only let you teach him because he wanted you close. He wants you close. Always.

It’s not just domestic stuff he sees. He wants to take you on a date. Many dates. He wants to take you out of Hawkins, even if it’s for just a day. He misses your laugh. Seeing you cry today broke him. Knowing that you’ve changed everything for him, and he didn’t notice. Because at the core of all the makeup and the hair, he guesses, that he just didn’t care. He loves all the extra, don’t get him wrong, but all he can see is you.

“What are you going to do, boy?” Wayne wonders.

Eddie replies in a question, “What if everything goes wrong? I- I can’t lose her, Wayne.”

“Son-,”

“What if I just turn out like him? Like my father?”

Eddie’s lip quivers, as he bites back the tears he’s been holding onto for years. Not a day goes by does he not miss his father, even if the years weren’t kind to him. His father is locked away somewhere in State, but he hasn’t visited. They’ll take one look at Eddie and they’ll try to lock him away too.

“That’s not you, Eddie,” Wayne opens his arms. “Come here.”

Eddie drops his head onto his uncle’s shoulder. Tears slide down his cheek and across his chin.

“Deep breaths,” he rubs his hand across Eddie’s back.

He doesn’t cry for long, and Wayne wipes his tears when he’s calmer. This isn’t a usual interaction between them, but neither of them care. Wayne takes away a stray eyelash from Eddie’s cheek.

“You like this girl?” Wayne says as a fact more than a question.

Eddie nods.

“You have to try,” he insists.

“Yeah, okay,” his nephew agrees.

Wayne and Eddie end their conversation there. Eddie eventually eats (after microwaving the food because he could have broken teeth on that steak), and the show that his uncle makes him watch isn’t half bad. Their night comes to a close when his uncle snores.

Mouth agape, head tipped over and his feet propped up, Wayne would be out for the night.

Eddie tucks his uncle’s toes beneath the blanket Wayne was hugging. Tip toeing his way into the kitchen, he puts both forks into the sink along with their drinking glasses. The TV dinners find home in the trash can. While Eddie left the television on to lull his uncle in his sleep, Eddie flicks off the living room and the kitchen lights. He sneaks off to his bedroom, the only bedroom in the trailer. Wayne gave up the space for Eddie to grow into.

Eddie finds that sleep won’t do.

You project onto his ceiling like a film about his life. There you are. Every new milestone. Eddie didn’t think about just how many times you were there for him. His birthdays come to mind, even the ones he didn’t want to be there for because he doesn’t always feel like he deserves to be celebrated. You’d sneak off to get him a beer when his uncle was distracted with all the other kids invited.

When you kept him from going outside, while Wayne drove up in his brand new van that was a gift for Eddie when he got his license. Wayne took on extra hours just for him. That might just have been the night his heart beat a little faster for you. Watching you perform songs in your living room in that ridiculous feather boa and sunglasses, Eddie’s drawn to laugh at the memory of you out of tune and off key. You didn’t care. The hair brush you swore was a microphone was just not working that night. You’re much better performer in the shower, you’d said.

Eddie sits up in bed, and he can see that your bedroom light is still on. Your curtains are drawn, but your silhouette dances about. Bouncing up and down will sometimes get rid of your last bit of energy, Eddie’s witnessed your routine first hand. Your wild, and Eddie finds this fascinating.

When your silhouette disappears, but the light remains, Eddie concludes that you’re reading a chapter book. You told Eddie to try reading sometime because that’s what helped you get to sleep. He bought his first book that very same day.

The Lord of the Rings was your suggestion. Not that he hadn’t found it first, but he wasn’t about to point it out. Eddie sees the book hidden under a lighter he used last night.

Smoking seemed obvious to him. He couldn’t sleep, so he would light up. With Wayne home, though, Eddie didn’t want the smell getting to him. He’s pretty sure Wayne knows he smokes by now, and he doesn’t care. Eddie isn’t a reckless smoker by any means, and he keeps to himself. If Wayne found out he was selling, that would be a different story.

Never the less, Eddie reads page after page of the same book he’s been fascinated by for weeks. He immerses himself into the books wishing he could be the hero, rather than the one who runs in the face of danger.

Eddie hears your front door open and close. This interests him and tips his head up. Tossing the book aside like he’s suddenly been hypnotized, he looks through his window.

You’re on the porch in thin pajamas and a robe. A lit cigarette slots between your fingers. You only smoke when you’re stressed. Pacing back and forth, Eddie understands that you’re talking to yourself. He just can’t make out the words.

This is creepy. Eddie shuts his window, and sinks back in bed. Leaving you alone - leaving you alone.

The words in his book blur into blobs of unrecognizable text. All he can see right now is you on that porch. You’re alone - and you’re probably cold. He has a blanket that he could offer. Maybe he could- no, he is leaving you alone.

Eddie wants to untangle the knot he has in his belly. He even tries to convince himself that he’s still hungry. But, he knows he won’t eat. You’re there. Even if you were caked in mud, you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world to him. Actually, he has seen you caked in mud before. You were definitely hot then too.

Oh, God. What was he doing?

Pulling open his closet now, Eddie finds a jacket to slip on over his pajamas. He takes an extra blanket with him. It’s a bit torn up, but the blanket is clean. Wayne washed the blanket a couple of days ago, along with Eddie’s sheets which he claimed he could smell from across town. Eddie was not that dirty. It was the weed - but, er - don’t ask about the stains. He doesn’t know what they are or where they came from. Seriously, don’t ask.

Wayne is still snoring in the living room. He mutters in his sleep when Eddie opens the front door, and he doesn’t see Wayne stir once the door shuts.

His uncle stretches, and wakes up enough to take a leak in his bathroom. By the time he returns to the living room, he catches a glimpse from the window in the living room. His boy is with you on your porch making you smile and making you blush.

Wayne doesn’t need to spy. He’s seen this movie before when his brother made moves on his girl. It’d be a few more years until Eddie is born, but the picture is already there.

“Atta boy,” Wayne cheers to himself.

Eddie’s sitting with you, and sharing a cigarette. You’re not sleeping either. Dried black makeup you haven’t smudged off is stuck under your eyes. He wants to swipe it away, but he doesn’t know if he should.

“Is your mom in tonight?” Eddie asks.

You shake your head. “No, but my dad is such a deep sleeper. He’s nothing to worry about.”

Eddie worries about your dad catching him there with his only daughter, then your mom who likes to call you both “crazy kids.” Your dad is stern. Overprotective. He’s jokes about having a gun locked away somewhere, but Eddie still has no idea if he is joking. You won’t tell him because truthfully you don’t know.

“What’s got you up?” Eddie brings the blanket closer to you because he sees your shoulders dance.

You shake your head blowing out smoke to the left where Eddie isn’t.

Eddie takes a drag from the cigarette after he says, “I don’t think I’ve been all that honest with you.”

He reads your face.

“Not like that,” he can’t look at you, so he counts the floorboards of your porch. “I said we’re okay, but I don’t think we are.”

Your heart skips in your chest. “What do you mean?”

While Eddie might not be able to look at you, your eyes are all on him. In the moonlight, he’s like this shiny thing. You can’t put your thoughts into words, but he’s carved by the shine of the moon. He might hide his face with his hair, but when he hunches over you relax a bit.

You haven’t been able to put yourself in bed. Knowing that Eddie was there had wrecked your mind. You’re itching to be near him.

The whole day you thought about nothing, but him. How unsatisfied you are with your earlier conversation. You thought being the one to take charge in the conversation, and assert yourself, might make the blow easier. Truthfully, it hurt even worse.

You spent the evening sobbing in your room like a baby. Friends. You signed your name at the bottom of that contract. But, then, you thought about the day you’ll find a nice boy that will like you back. You’ll get married. You’ll get a house. Everything will be okay. But, as you thought about your life, your mind wondered about Eddie. What happens when he finds a girl? He’ll have a wife and he’ll have a house too.

You’ll be at that wedding. Sitting in a chair that’s not too close to the front, but also not all the way in the back. The band sits in front of you. They might not be able to pronounce the brand name, but their check cashes on their suits. All of your friends are his friends.

Eddie’s fiancé is faceless, but her gown is breathtaking. They’ll say ‘I do.’

You’ll cry along with them, but the tears you shed are ones you let out at a funeral. Are you just supposed to sit there and pretend like you don’t want to throw up?

Because that’s not you standing at the alter.

That’s some chick he’s met on the road while he tours with the band. Sure she’s great. But, the sight sickens you. Maybe that means your selfish, but you can’t do this. You can’t see Eddie with another woman. You refuse to see it because Eddie’s always been with you.

“I’m sorry?” You’ve spaced out while Eddie is speaking.

He begins to say, “please don’t make me repeat myself.”

Throwing the cigarette to the ground, you stamp out the flame. You wrap your hands around his neck, and you pull him forward. Eddie's lips meet yours in an awaited embrace. Longing and passionate. His hands burrow into your hair pulling you ever closer. The tender touch of his fingers fall to your waist to tell you he's not going anywhere.

You can't be sure which one of you pull away first. But, when your eyes open you breathe a sigh of relief. Eddie is still there, and he's about as hot in the face as you feel. You let out a breathy laugh, and he hides his grin behind his hair.

It doesn't take long for him to ask,

"Can I take you out sometime?"

And, of course, you say. "Yes!"

-> <-

tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia @sofaritsalrightt @thisisktrying @somethingvicked @sebastiansstanswhore

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.” 

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen. 

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact. 

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers. 

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry. 

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way. 

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld. 

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.” 

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for? 

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure. 

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless. 

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning. 

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon. 

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.” 

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog. 

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking. 

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?” 

“His first name is Hella.” 

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

[angelssung]

mission: valentine!

summary: you decided to confess to your friend on valentines day.

warning/s: n/a

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!! modern au lol

pairings: koby x gn!reader

a/n: happy valentine's day to everyone! been into anime since forever, but the live action was what got me to finally start watching one piece, and now here i am :) still on thriller bark but i know a good chunk of spoilers LMAOOO

The smell of different chocolates wafted through the air, with a hint of artificial strawberry.

“Mmm, these look great!”

Nami smacked Luffy’s hands away from the handmade chocolates you made with your friends (or rather, just Usopp, Nami, Vivi, Robin, and Sanji. Zoro and Luffy were just there to hang out).

“Those ones are not for you, dumbass!” “Aww, man…”

Next to Luffy was a now almost empty chocolate box, intended for him as you all knew he would want one. The reason you four were making chocolates was the fact that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. 

Besides you, Nami had invited her girlfriend and your shared close friend group to make some chocolates for Valentine’s Day after you had drunkenly admitted your crush on a certain pink haired boy in front of the group you were currently with. 

Five minutes later, after your admission, Vivi had been the one to suggest confessing your feelings on Valentine’s Day.

“I think it would be so cute!”

Initially, you had believed that this whole thing was extremely cheesy. However, some of your friends believed that there was no better time than Valentine’s Day.

The worldwide day of celebrating love, or so Sanji believed.

Quietly, Usopp butts in, “Remember, that’s up to (Y/N) to confess…”

“I KNOW THAT!”

“And besides, if (Y/N) gets rejected, I don’t think Koby would be the type to distance himself and stop being friends with them.” A hum from Luffy indicated he agreed with Zoro’s statement.

A statement that earned both boys a hard smack on the head by Nami, “You two! Knock it off!”

“No, no, they’re right.” Much to the surprise of your friends, you shrugged, “We gotta be realistic about this. I don’t know what’s gonna happen if I do end up confessing.”

The attention was focused on you now, feeling like a lone stage light shining on you as your friends sat in silence, everyone unsure of what to say.

Luckily it didn’t last for too long. 

“Well I think you should go for it. If you want.” Sending a small smile your way, Robin shrugged, “Judging by our interactions, he seems like a lovely person who would treat you nicely.”

You didn’t want to make a hasty decision of confessing or not. “Just… give me a few days to think about it.”

Vivi patted your back gently, “Of course!”

And that was that, another topic amongst your group started.

A few days later, you were able to make up your mind and texted Nami your decision, which led to you proudly raising a box of chocolates. You had used different molds to make unique shapes for the chocolates, and coated some strawberries in white chocolate as you recalled it was his favourite type of chocolate. Well, at least you hope you heard him right.

Today’s chocolate making event was a success, and you could only hope your confession the next day would also be a success.

The next day, you found yourself, Nami, Usopp and Robin hiding behind the wall of a shop.

A few minutes ago, you had received a text from Koby mentioning that he and Helmeppo got off from work and were going to the park you two had agreed at meet at a few days ago.

However, you were getting a bit nervous, refusing to stand next to the park and risk looking like a lonely person surrounded by all the couples that were out today.

“Oh, just do it (Y/N)!” Intending to push you to where Koby could see you, Nami’s feet shuffle, inadvertently pushing both you and Usopp.

Usopp ran back to your friends, leaving you all by yourself to choke on your spit before Koby and Helmeppo could turn around.

Well, that is if they were there.

“Wh- huh?” Blinking, you turned your head to the left, then to the right. Didn’t Robin just say that the duo were already there?

Since they weren’t here… you could just… run away quickly without getting noticed, right?

Maybe even buy tickets to another country and just chuck your phone in some random trash bin. Start a new life-

‘No, no!’ Shaking your head, you looked down at the ground, ‘Focus! I’m here anyways, no point in being embarrassed now! I’ll wait for him to show up.’

Unbeknownst to you, Robin was right. They were behind you, but the fact you were confessing in the first place was getting too overwhelming that you didn’t think to check behind you.

Helmeppo was the first one to spot you, nudging the pink haired boy next to him as he spoke, “(Y/N)’s here.”

Acknowledging his best friend’s words, Koby turned his body in the same direction.

Your friends tried to signal to look behind you, making exaggerated movements in hope you’d turn around. Unfortunately for them, you just furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, looking side to side and shrugging at your friends when you couldn’t see Koby.

Unaware that both men were behind you, your soul almost jumped out of your body as you finally turned around.

“Well you sure are delighted to see us,” Helmeppo commented with a snort.

“Sorry if we scared you!” Koby let out a chuckle, “It was cute, though.”

…Did he just say you were cute?? CUTE??? This probably means you’ve got a chance!

“That’s, that’s fine,” In a poor attempt to look nonchalant, you looked away to the right in hopes that your heart would stop racing. Confessing was a scary thing to do considering you didn’t want things to end up awkward between you two, “Anyways, Helmeppo, could you give us some privacy?”

The blond nodded, a small smirk on his face, “Fine by me, I’m heading home. Have fun, you two, but not too mu-“

“Ahahahaha!” Koby let out an embarrassed laugh, making it loud enough to interrupt his friend’s sentence, “Weren’t you gonna go? Hurry up, the sun’s gonna set soon.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let out a small giggle, Koby smiling warmly at the sound of your melodic voice.

Once the two of you were alone (save for the fact your friends were eavesdropping behind a nearby wall), Koby’s attention turned back to you.

Well, it’s too late to run and pack your luggage to another country.

His blue eyes meet yours, before quickly shifting to your lips, “So, (Y/N). What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

It’s like your mouth moved before you were able to think clearly, “Do you know what today is?”

He blinked in confusion, trying to piece together what you called him to meet up for.

“Wednesday…?” You made a rolling motion with your hands to encourage him to continue guessing, “The 14th… of February…”

“Valentine’s Day.” “Yup!” Pulling out the heart shaped box filled with the handmade chocolates from your bag, you offer them to Koby.

“Oh, that’s so cool!” The two of you then proceeded to stand there in silence, the boy processing your actions.

As soon as he fully processed what was going on, Koby face began to turn as red as a tomato, “Wait, for- for me?”

You nodded with a smile, even though you could hear yourself screaming inside your head to say something.

“Surely you didn’t mistake me for anyone else….”

“Who else do I know has pink hair?” As soon as he opened his mouth, you interjected, “That I have feelings for!”

His hands were slightly shaking, delicately taking the box from your hands like you just gave him a fragile item. He started feeling a little lightheaded at your confession, trying not to faint out of excitement knowing that his crush liked him back.

The second your hands made contact with his, you couldn’t help but notice how soft they were.

“Thank you.. but, are you sure?” Blinking in disbelief at your heartfelt gift, the pink haired boy didn’t think he was worthy to be the recipient of your affections, let alone anyone’s affections, “I’m not the, um, ideal boyfriend…”

He had never gotten a genuine love confession before or liked someone as much you. How was he supposed to react?

But upon meeting your eyes once again, Koby’s ones widened at your radiant smile.

“I don’t want or expect you to be a perfect boyfriend, I like you the way you are.” Realising you may have assumed he likes you back, you wave your hands, “That’s if you want to be my boyfriend! I’m not forcing you, we can just continue being friends!”

Koby copies your hand gesture and the same embarrassed expression, “No, actually, I’d really lo- like! I’d like to be your boyfriend and go on a date sometime if that’s okay with you!”

Silence fills the air for a few seconds as you process what he had just said.

“That’s okay with me.” The two of you flash smitten grins at one another, the sky turning pink behind you as the sun continued to set.

"WOOHOO-" Usopp’s cheers that caught your attention was cut off, turning into muffled comments of excitement when Nami hastily put her hand on his mouth.

Robin had to stifle a laugh at the comical sight, covering her mouth with her fist.

Koby’s head turned back to you, a little flustered now that he was reminded that your friends were watching.

“Are you, uh, free this Friday?”

“We could go talk about the details over some dinner,” An attempt at a seductive smile made its way onto your face, but the realisation that you might look stupid turned that smile into a more nervous one, “If that’s alright with you?”

“Oh um, of course!”

His hand reached out to yours, and without a single word, you took it, beginning to walk hand in hand around the park.

“Also, if you open the box…” “White chocolate, you remembered!” 

“Next time I’ll make dark chocolate ones.” You gave an innocent smile.

His face shifted to an overly exaggerated disgusted expression, “…”

“What’s with that look?” “Please don’t, they’re gross.” “They’re not too bad!”

“Now I don’t have to endure Koby talking about asking her out…” Helmeppo let out a sigh of relief, happy for his friend and for his poor ears.

The blond had been walking home until he caught the sight of the three hiding behind the wall, wanting to join them to see what would happen between his best friend and you.

Robin smiles, “But now you have to listen to him talk about his girlfriend.”

The four stand there in silence for a few moments, waiting for a response from the blond man.

“…I think I’m gonna buy some ear plugs before tomorrow’s shift.”

[charleslee-valentine]

♪ Now when I'm very good, and do as I am told I'm Mama's little angel and Daddy says I'm good as gold

And when I'm naughty and answer back and sass I'm Mama's little devil, and Daddy says I've got the brass. ♪

- What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

~~~~

Fic word count: ~1,600

Warnings: Detailed depictions of child abuse (mental, medical, and physical,) canonical mistreatment of the Sinclair twins, the highchair/restraints being used on Bo, panic attack, near asphyxia, fear of death, smoking, psychological torment, weaponized love, Trudy and Victor Sinclair being horrible parents, childhood mental illness, all hurt no comfort.

~~~~

“Don’t you love your brother, Beauregard?!”

Does he?

Vincent is sitting in his big boy chair in the corner. His hair is parted neatly down the middle, smoothed by Mama’s doting hands and a lipsticked kiss. There’s no mask on his face today. His last one melted.

The brat left in the window where the sun could get it too long.

Not that it’s his fault actually. If the Doc didn’t insist on interrupting breakfast to prod at some scar tissue in Vinny’s nose that was making a whistle sound when he breathed, it wouldn’t have happened. Pulled him away and left his mask where it lie, forgotten for hours while he inspected and snipped the problem away.

And then there was a new issue.

Mama’s mold was still shattered. One problem the Doc’s cold, rough hands couldn’t piece back together into perfection. There's a hero cast somewhere that could make a new mold, but Mama wants a newer one. To replace Vinny’s year four mask.

Every second his scars stay exposed makes him cry. He doesn’t like being stared at and dissected like a bug with its wings pinned.

Bo isn’t in his big boy chair. He’s strapped into the too small highchair. The tray squeezes his stomach and the metal hurts his knees. Not as much as the straps though.

Not as much as his feelings when he’s asked about if he loves his brother.

Of course he does. Vincent is the only one in the house that Bo still trusts. And that means he loves him. Because it isn’t his fault the mask melted. It’s Doc’s. And it’s not his fault about the mold breaking, it’s Mama’s.

And it’s not Vincent’s fault that his face got messed up. That one is Bo’s.

Being a good boy and sitting still and letting Mama get her copy of his face should be just the easiest thing. He’s doing this for his brother. His only friend in the world.

It’s never easy.

Mama makes the mixture in a big bowl, hot water and some powder that turns orange. It’s slimy and smells an awful lot like marshland before a rainstorm. The schlop always feels clammy on his skin. Unpleasantly cold and wet no matter how dry it gets.

“Don’t you move now, Bo. Your papa’ll woop you.”

Lies aren’t allowed in this house, unless it’s ‘I love you.’ So Bo knows she means that threat. He’s got to behave or face worse than this.

Doesn’t mean he just can.

The alginate makes Bo flinch, rocking back to scoot his chair away from the sickening feeling. Mama don’t let up. She scoops up handfuls of it and spreads it on his face like it’s one of her fancy creams. At first she always leaves his eyes out, and his lips, and every time he thinks maybe he got lucky and she ain’t gonna drown him in it.

He’s always wrong to trust Mama.

All it takes is another handful, pressed against his mouth while he tries to scream his protests, but she presses her palm down hard so he can’t open it. Everything’s muffled, bottled up so no one can know.

The mixture sneaks tiny drops past his lips and makes him gag, once, twice- but Mama keeps pressing her clawed hand down until it starts to dry just enough that it holds itself. Then over his eyes it goes.

Bo tries to hold them open, but Mama always knows when he’s gonna do stuff like that. She purses her lips and blows a quick puff of cigarette air, makes him flinch again so his eyes close and she can take advantage of it.

Once it’s dark is when Bo panics for real. The healing wounds on his wrists tear right open again as he thrashes harder. The blood drips slow as honey, pooling around the leather straps holding him down.

It’s moments like this, that Bo questions his trust of Vincent.

Vincent who sits patiently in the corner for Mama to finish her torture so he can get back to being the favorite. Without his mask, he’s not wanted. An ugly, warped thing that needs covering up. Like a weed in the garden. Or a corpse in the Doc’s operating room.

Bo wishes his brother would help him. He wishes his mama would listen and take this stuff off his face. He prays that the Doc won’t come home yet and get mad and make things hurt worse. Or maybe that he won’t come home at all.

Mostly though, his brain is like static. Painful, heated, buzzing tv static burning a hole right through the back of his head. He’s in the middle of it, the dark, and sinking. There’s two little holes for him to breathe through, but he can’t get enough air.

Bo digs his nails into his own palms and draws even more blood, and underneath the sticky shell, he screams. And screams. And screams.

Nobody ever listens.

Mama tugs his messy hair in place of being able to slap his face.

“What did I tell you! Quiet while I finish!”

But there’s not enough air and he needs her to listen. Bo’s going to suffocate and all his mama cares about is making Vincent pretty.

Never learning, never getting used to the constraint, Bo tries to tear his arms upwards from the tape, to dig those blunted nails into Mama’s flesh instead of his own.

He can’t get them to budge.

She just keeps going, either not knowing about the mental threat to her safety or not caring.

The alginate starts to get tacky, so Mama wets strips of plaster gauze, the kind from Doc’s office like he used when he broke Bo’s arm putting him in his restraints a long time ago. Water splashing in a new bowl, rung out of each piece before its placed over top, just makes Bo feel even more like he’s dying. Drops landing somewhere in the abyss, his head underneath the water as he drowns.

Bo wants to die. Or he thinks he is dying anyhow. With the very last strip, Mama covers over his nose too.

Again Bo tries to scream, but barely a groan gets past his sealed lips. The full minute it takes to all harden up is far too long without breathing. What was a completely black void behind his eyes gets sparks of flashing red and white. He’s out of air.

A last effort to get his mama to listen, Bo rocks and slams his back against his highchair, desperately trying to tip it. The impact of the ground would force air back into his lungs.

He feels it start to give way, gravity suddenly weighing more heavily on him, but Mama hisses and rocks him right back upright. Her fault for putting a big kid in a little baby's chair.

Mama peels it all away then. From the outside it’s so easy, to cup the sides of his fake plaster face and ease the two layers back, only a couple scraps left sticking to his skin. She’ll help him clean up later if he’s well behaved at supper maybe.

First thing Bo does now is take a big breath in, but it’s too much at once after so long without air, he coughs, throat raw and dry, making Mama jerk back in disgust from him.

“Did you have to be so dramatic?”

Bo knows he’s crying when the image of his mama turns blurry. His face is already numb and cold and wet, but chest starts heaving with sobs, rising and falling all out of rhythm. Instead of his growling and screaming, Bo wheezes and cries and whimpers, unable to catch his breath, because of the tears this time.

The thing about alginate- it’s very sensitive.

Sure it doesn’t pull too bad once it firms up like jell-o, coming off easy from Bo’s eyelashes and eyebrows without disturbing single hair, but that’s just the thing. The rubbery, weak material ain’t meant to last long. It’ll dry out and shrink in a couple hours anyhow, the whole thing got no real structure.

Mama laid the fresh cast in a box of sawdust to pour plaster in it without spills or damage, and noticed, in the mess of Bo thrashing as it came off, a rip had formed. Right across the middle of his face from the side of his mouth to the opposite side of his nose.

Once upon a time, she’d tried to just patch it when it tore, only for the plaster face to come out warped, cheeks flattened and bumpy, nose crooked. One eye missing. She’d given it to the Doc to dispose of. Familiar story.

Mama clicks her tongue against her teeth, a noise of distaste Bo knows just as well. It sends a cold feeling down his spine, worse than the goop on his face.

“You know I’m gonna have to do that all over again now.”

His wrists won’t stop bleeding. They itch and burn as much as his tearful eyes.

Bo steals a glare over at Vincent in his precious, safe corner. His head down, he’s doodling something. Maybe drawing pretty pictures of Beauregard’s misery. All for himself. Selfish, selfish Vincent, doesn’t help and keeps the pain around as art.

Still, that’s no worse than stealing his brother’s face.

The scar on the back of Bo’s head aches.

“I love you.”

It’s for Vinny. To answer the question, he does love his brother.

Mama answers back, like she belonged between their bond,

“You love me. Well thank God you do.”

Her cigarette ash on his skin hurts worse than the burning in his lungs. The crumbling cherry touches his cheek and leaves a little singe by the corner of his mouth. His own tears soothe it.

Though smoke doesn’t make calming down any easier.

“You best love me, Beauregard. Show me. Be a good boy and sit still.”

[minervadashwood]

Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 26

~~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary:It's a sleepover.

This chapter contains: smut, angst, fluff

Word count: 3.3K

Enjoy!

==

“Rick,” you gasped, your breath shuddering. He pressed you against the wall, and you gazed up at him. His eyes had that dominant gleam you’d witnessed at the hurricane shelter. Unlike Daryl, Rick’s gaze--and the intent behind it--brought out your full submission. With Daryl you might tease or play coquettish, but with Rick you could only give in to that smoldering gaze. Whatever he wanted, you would do.

He nuzzled your scent gland opposite Daryl’s mark. “You’re gonna be mine, aren’t ya, Bunny?” He kissed your scent gland and spoke again. “All I can think about right now is you. How you smell, how you’ll taste, how you’ll feel when I finally get my knot in you.”

You whimpered, going limp, and Rick had to grip you by the hips and hold you in place. “A-are you sure?” you asked.

*

Daryl stood in the middle of the hallway, gun bags hanging from each shoulder. Easily smelling your arousal, it beckoned to him, especially after the evening he’d had. First, spending the day keeping Merle in check, and then witnessing that awful scene on the way home.

Hurriedly, he unlocked the door to the weapon room and dropped the guns inside. Locking it again, he took long strides to reach you, crowding into Rick’s space and hovering.

“Daryl?” you said, letting go of Rick’s shirt and taking Daryl’s hand. You urged him even closer, and Rick made room for him. Daryl dipped his head and kissed you slowly. All day he’d thought of coming home to you, and now he needed to touch you, to feel your warmth and comfort.

Your eyes flitted from him to Rick, and Daryl easily recognized the look in Rick’s eyes: a hunger that no food or drink could satisfy. Was Rick ready for that next step with you? Was it time for Daryl to step away? 

Yet, you held tightly to Daryl’s hand, so he didn’t budge.

“Rick,” you said, “do you want to take this to the nest?”

Daryl watched as Rick drew you closer to him, urging you away from the wall and into his body.

You glanced at Daryl, and he gave you a small nod and followed you and Rick into the nest, your hand still holding his.

In the bedroom, you slipped away from Rick and hugged Daryl fully. He nuzzled your neck, letting your touch and scent wash over him. Needing to forget whaten he’d witnessed earlier, Daryl held you close, his body molding around yours. He scented you and the room, and your fragrance coalesced with his. Then Rick’s own musk filtered through the air, filling Daryl with confidence. The other man was pack, just as Merle was, as Ro was, and the realization let Daryl loosen his hold on you.

Rick was already behind you, his nose tracing your scent gland on the other side of your neck, his hands curled around your soft hips, his pelvis pressed against your backside.

“Bubbie,” Daryl whispered, “I’m gonna go fer now. Ya stay here with Rick, an’ I’ll come back later.”

Rick’s head shot up. “Daryl, you don’t--”

At the same time you tugged on his hand, and said, “This is your nest, too.”

Shaking his head, Daryl stepped away. Later, he would have time with you, he knew, and now that he’d calmed down and held you for a moment, other matters were more urgent.

With Carl in the apartment, he needed to lock up the guns properly. And all the guns they’d used today needed to be cleaned, the ammunition needed to be organized and put away. He wanted to clean his crossbow, too, and take stock of his bolts. After his drive home, the world seemed more dangerous than it had before. If there was some new strain of drug that made people act like that, he needed to be prepared, ready to protect you and the rest of his pack.

He kissed your temple and backed away. “Later,” he told you. “Promise.”

*

As Daryl closed the door behind him, you turned around in Rick’s arms.

Rick’s brow furrowed with concern. “Is he okay with this? Want me to go talk to him?”

You shook your head. “He needs space, sometimes. And he’s a lot calmer now than when he got home.” You bit your bottom lip.

Rick wrapped his arms around your waist. “What about you, Bunny? Are you okay?”

You nodded, gazing up at him. “He’ll come back. He promised. Daryl never breaks a promise.”

Rick smiled down at you, your trust in Daryl compelling Rick to be as dependable as your other mate, and to hopefully reach that level of understanding and trust with you that you and Daryl already had.

Rick guided you to the edge of the bed and sat you down, lowering himself just enough to be eye level with you. The images from earlier, of the cannibal and  the firing line, threatened to surface, but he willed them away. You were his focus now; nothing else mattered.

He cradled your jaw, eyes flitting from your eyes to your slightly parted lips. He leaned closer until his nose brushed yours.

“Please, Alpha,” you breathed.

“Please what?” he teased, earning a flash of annoyance in your gaze.

“Kiss me.”

He growled, your forceful pleading undoing him quickly. “Oh, Bunny,” he murmured, and did as you asked. He cradled the back of your head with both hands and kissed you. Right away you put your arms around his neck, drawing yourself closer to him. Why had he waited so long for this? He could have had you weeks ago, could have spent all his nights kissing you and holding you.

He leaned forward, urging you to lay back on the bed. You complied and he followed, moving his hands to gently lay you down, never breaking your kiss. He lifted you so that you slid back, away from the edge, making room for him between your legs. Deepening the kiss, Rick lost himself in you: so plush and warm, tasting like sin and the finest wine.  

You moaned softly and wrapped your legs around him, your thick thighs pressing around his hips, their wonderful softness cradling him just right. He moaned in response, and his hips involuntarily grinded his pelvis against you. Your legs drew him closer, and your hands were grabbing at his shirt, fumbling with his snap buttons. You broke the kiss in frustration, causing Rick to whimper at the loss. 

“Too many clothes,” you explained, your eyes furrowed in determination as you finally figured out how to unbutton his shirt. You made quick work of it then, and sat up fully, dragging the flannel overshirt off his shoulders and immediately grabbing at his t-shirt until he gave in and lifted it over head.

“Your turn,” he growled, grabbing your giant t-shirt and pulling it off of you in one smooth motion. He gaped at your bralette and what it contained. Was he a breast man? He never thought of himself as such, but now he could be.  

“Take it off,” he ordered, but when you fumbled with it, he yanked it off himself, ripping it in the process.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your newly revealed breasts rising and falling with your rapid breathing.

“I’ll get you a new one. Ten of them. I don’t care.” Then Rick was on you, grabbing a breast in each hand, pushing them together and ducking his head to kiss them in turn.

“Mmmm, Rick,” you mumbled, falling back onto the mattress and arching your back into his palms.  

He continued palming one breast, but he released the other and zeroed in on your taut nipple. He pinched it gently, and you responded instantly, letting out a little moan and lifting your hips off the bed. Experimenting, Rick pinched and rolled and teased the bud, alternating his movements until you just whimpered more and more. Then, keeping his hand focused on your nipple, he took the other into his mouth, his eyes shuddering closed as he laved and sucked.

His cock was aching painfully, and with you writhing beneath him, it was only getting worse. Still, he gave his full attention to your beasts, letting full minutes pass as he teased and sucked, eventually switching places with his mouth and hand.

Over time, you grew impatient, and Rick realized this when he opened his eyes to see your hand slipped into your pants and angling toward your clit.

He slowly stopped his ministrations and stood up. You were a mess below him: disheveled hair, swollen nipples, the peaks of your breasts covered with this saliva. The room was filled with the scent of your arousal, and Rick had to take a long, deep breath to calm his inner alpha.  

But then he was on you again. He grabbed the waistband of your sweatpants and pulled them down your legs, along with your underwear. Immediately he was on his knees again, pulling you to the edge of the bed and draping your lovely thighs over his shoulders.

“Rick, you don’t have to--”

“Yes. I do.” With both hands he spread you open, revealing your beautiful and wet cunt. Without wasting any more time, he dove in, dragging his tongue up your slit and then giving your clit a few experimental licks. You groaned, deep in your chest, the sound low-pitched and sexy. Then your hands were buried in his hair, and Rick again lost himself to you. 

Your taste was better than he imagined, your fragrance intoxicating. He focused on your clit, listening to you as you yanked on his hair and kept angling yourself toward his mouth. When you were vibrating with pleasure, he slipped his forefinger inside you. The wet heat of your pussy made him groan, and he added another finger, thrusting and feeling his way inside your body.

He knew he’d found the right spot when you pulled on his hair and nearly lifted yourself off the mattress. Rick’s heart was almost full to bursting, knowing he made you feel this good, knowing that he could give you a fraction of the pleasure you’d already given him just by letting him this close to you, by opening yourself to him, accepting him as your mate.

“So close, Rick. Please !” 

He didn’t let up, and suddenly your walls were clenching around his fingers, and you were stifling your moans with one hand, moving your hips in shallow, slow movements, working with his hand and mouth to ride out your pleasure.

Rick crawled up your body, lowering himself and kissing you with all he had.

“You’re mine,” He said into your mouth. “And I’m yours, Y/N.”

You cupped his jaw with both hands. “I know, Alpha, I know.”

Rick pressed his forehead into the crook of your shoulder. He hadn’t even knotted you and he was well and truly lost to you. Nothing he’d had with Lori could compare with this. Indeed, he could not imagine anyone else feeling this way. Except maybe Daryl.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close and soothing him. “Are you okay, Rick? We don’t have to do anything else.”

He rose up and shook his head. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m trying not to question it.”

“Then don’t,” you replied, running your hand through his hair. “You deserve to be happy, and if I can make you happy, then let me.”

Rick nodded. “Let’s finish what we started then.”

You beamed up at him. 

Rick stood up once more, ridding himself of the rest of his clothing, then he was back in the bed with you.

He grabbed the headboard with one hand, keeping himself above you, with the other hand he guided himself to your entrance. Holding himself still, he found your eyes, and you reached for him, smoothing your hands over his shoulders and looking at him with soft affection.

He smiled at you and guided himself inside of you, going as slowly as he was able and groaning louder with each passing second. He wouldn’t last long, he knew, after denying himself for months, he was like an inexperienced teenager again.

But you moved before he did. Your hips rose off the bed, encouraging him, and Rick was wrapped up entirely in you: your body, your face, your voice, your eyes. You held his gaze, and Rick stared back at you, finding his rhythm, and thrusting. You squeezed his shoulders, and Rick shuddered.

“Can’t hold out much longer,” he gasped.

Your reply was another low moan as you broke eye contact and your eyes rolled back. “Me neither,” you breathed. 

He felt you clamping around him again, and Rick’s thrusts grew sloppy, but then his knot slammed into place just as you gasped and gripped him, your short fingernails digging into his skin.

He came at the same time you did, releasing himself into you and seeing flashes of you pregnant with his pups as he slowly came down from his orgasm.

He kissed you gently, wanting to crawl inside you and stay forever. Lying down with you on top of him, Rick studied your face, your round cheeks, glistening eyes, tired smile. Pressing his lips to the top of your head, he murmured, “My precious little Bunny. Never letting you out of my sight again.”

You huffed a sigh and rested your head on his chest, running your hand through the dark hair there. “You’re going to give up a career in police work to follow me around campus? I have finals in a week. I won’t be pretty.”

“You know what I mean,” Rick placated, but he rather liked the idea of being with you all day, every day.

“I do,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his chest and burrowing deeper into him.

*

You mindlessly traced shapes in Rick’s chest hair as he ran his hands up and down your back. Some time later, you lifted up your head, sensing Daryl’s approach. He’d been waiting, you knew, but not impatiently, while you’d been with Rick.

Rick sat up with you, slipping out of you and kissing your forehead.  

Quietly, the door opened, and you turned your head to Daryl, who nodded at Rick and then smiled bashfully at you.

“Shower,” you asked him, and Daryl nodded.

Rick bodily lifted you off his lap and set you on the floor. “Guess my turn’s over, huh?”

“Got Carl settled in the pull-out sofa. Left a lamp on for ‘im.” Daryl said. “Y’all might as well stay the night.”

“Please say you will,” you begged Rick.

He nodded. “If Daryl’s okay with it.” Rick gave you a little shove. “Go on with him now. See you in a bit.”

Your knees threatened to give out. For the fourth time this evening you were getting passed from one Alpha to the other, like some tradeoff your mates were negotiating in silence. Gingerly, you found your way to Daryl, not making any effort to hide your nudity, and led the way into the en suite. Daryl closed the door behind you.

Then, he undressed quickly, tossing his clothes to the floor and then wrapping his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his mark on your shoulder and growling.

You melted into him, sated and wanton all at once, and Daryl wordlessly guided you into the shower and turned on the water. Steam rose around you and water slicked both your bodies.

Again, Daryl was behind you, his palms roaming over your stomach, your sides, then your breasts. His hands were like hungry beasts that couldn’t get enough of you. Bracing your arms on the wall of the shower, you threw your head back and let him manhandle you, his touch and the steaming water heating your skin and making you breathless.

Daryl urged you to bend over, then he nipped at your ear. “Tell me yer alrigh’, ‘Mega,” he growled.

“I’m alright, Alpha,” you said.

At your words, Daryl spread you wide, his cock hard and pressed to your ass, then he guided it into your pussy and started moving right away. You were still aroused from Rick’s knot, so it wasn’t long before you were mewling and clenching around Daryl’s cock. He continued thrusting, using one hand on your hip to hold you steady while the other clutched at you, still roaming and squeezing. He’d be careful not to knot you, you knew--a dangerous joining in a bathtub to say the least--but you still craved him, welcomed him.

A few thrusts more and you came, reaching a hand back to touch any part of Daryl you could reach. He finished, and pulled out of you, finally turning you around to face him. He pushed your wet hair away from your face, then reached behind you for the soap.

You washed each other under the spray of water, and when you were done, Daryl wrapped you in a Theirs towel and kissed your nose.

When he turned away, you saw his scars. You’d grown used to the sight of them since they were an intrinsic part of your mate’s physique, but looking at him now, you realized that you’d forgotten how Daryl felt about them. He was ashamed of all his scars, especially the ones on his back. You remembered, too, that you were the only person who’d ever seen them. Not even Merle knew what their father had done to Daryl.

You reached for him, gently running your hand over his warm, rigid skin. “Is this why you left?” you asked, drawing closer.

He looked at you over his shoulder, his wet, blonde hair falling over his eyes as he shook his head once. “Had other stuff to do.”

But you knew better, you’d felt the tiniest spike of panic when you’d asked. “It’s okay,” you whispered, brushing the hair from his eyes. “We don’t all have to be together at the same time.”

He gazed at you, jaw clenched as what seemed like a million thoughts flitted through his eyes.

“It ain’t that,” he finally answered. “What we saw…that man…with you an’ the pup here. Jus’ had to make sure y’all’re safe.”

“But we are, Daryl.”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose. “Can’t help feelin’ like somethin’s comin’ an’ I won’ be ready fer it.”

“Everything’s fine,” you soothed. “You’re safe, I’m safe. Ro and Merle are safe. You’ve been working too hard and not resting enough.”

Daryl sighed. “Ya think so?”

You nodded, relieved. Daryl rarely took it to heart when you told him to rest or relax, but it seemed like this time he was listening.

“Let’s go to bed early. Want me to bring you a change of clothes?”

Daryl nodded.

Back in the nest, Rick had brought snacks from the kitchen and had apparently raided Daryl’s dresser for a pair of shorts to wear. You sat between your alphas as they recounted their day at the shooting range and about Ro getting drunk and handsy with Merle. When it was time to sleep, you were sandwiched between them, your head on Rick’s chest and Daryl curled around you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist.

*

Daryl was about to turn off the light, but before he did, Rick’s gaze caught his. Rick had been all smiles and laughter before, but now his expression was tense, his eyes alert.

So, he felt it, too, Daryl realized. That sense of impending doom. It wasn’t just in Daryl’s head, as you had surmised, but the premonition was an almost tangible thing that Daryl couldn’t quite hold on to. 

But he wanted to. Whatever was coming, he wanted to grab it in his fist and crush it before it became a real threat. But this was no prowling animal in the woods or a random bar fight.

He gave Rick a slight nod of acknowledgement. Daryl’s only solace, for now, was that whatever it was, he and Rick would work together to protect you. That your other alpha was nearby made Daryl all the more confident in your safety. 

He flicked the light off and held you close in the darkness, finally letting himself drift to sleep.

==

Next chapter.

==

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[midmorninggrey]

Happy friday! For some Cal/Fenris, "[ STEADY ]: the sender rests a hand on the shaken and panicked receiver's shoulder to steady and ground them." (from shoulder touch)

Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! @lordgoretash was also kind enough to send in this prompt for Cal/Fenris.

For me, this turned out a bit heavy for an unedited piece; I hope the comfort is (kinda) there, but please take care when reading.

WC: ~1200

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Abuse

“You have to get her something, Fenris,” Cal sang over his shoulder as he picked through a basket of gauzy Antivan scarves. “You really can’t show up to Hawke’s house without something. It’s not good manners.”

Fenris stood in the middle of the market stall, the gloom of his dark armor surrounded on all sides by colorful fabric, and touched nothing. Still, the importer, a portly man with a terrible comb-over, hadn’t taken his eyes off the elf with the strange white hair and stranger markings. Cal could have slipped five of the scarves into his pockets unseen.

“You assume I’ve said yes,” Fenris said.

“It’s her birthday,” Cal reminded him. He stepped away from the scarves, pockets empty, and looked up into his friend’s glower. “Are you really going to say no to Hawke - on her birthday?”

Fenris held his gaze for a moment, seeing the challenge, then dipped his head with a sigh. “Good point.”

They decided the scarves were too loud and too cheap. The nervous vendor was happy to see them move along to the next stall.

They’d arrived in the Lowtown market mid afternoon, after the morning bustle had long cleared out. The merchants were resting their voices from their opening haggles and left Cal and Fenris to browse after only a few half-hearted offers; soon enough they would be back to shouting to get rid of their stock before dark. The bazaar no longer smelled of fresh bread, but the air was still laden with the grease sizzling off skewered meat and hot pies, kept hot over coal pits.

As they passed one such stall, Fenris slowed by the food.

“What if I were to get a gift for Barnabas?”

Cal winced. Fenris was on better terms with Hawke’s Mabari hound than the woman herself, but unlike the other ladies of Hightown, Hawke would not be charmed if her company catered to her dog’s tastes.

“It’s not Barney’s birthday,” Cal said.

Grumbling as Cal waved him over to a table lined with soaps and perfume bottles, trading the scent of charcoal for musty flowers, Fenris crossed his arms.

“Remind me why I can’t simply give her a bottle of wine and be done with it?”

Before Cal could answer, Fenris twisted beside him. Cal was quick to follow his wide eyes, scanning behind them, but, as usual, there was nothing strange to see. The Lowtown crowds milled lazily behind them. Over the years, he’d learned not to grab his sword every time Fenris jumped.

And after all, if they did come for Fenris, they’d face worse than his blade.

“She doesn’t drink reds,” Cal spoke gently. “Says they give her a headache. Here – look at this.”

Fenris brought his head forward and glared down at the peculiar bottle Cal had picked up to show him.

“This one is shaped like a shoe,” Cal said, explaining the obvious. The green glass bottle was molded into a tiny heeled boot, complete with laces. Cal figured the price was for the novelty; the bottle only held a few drops of liquid.

Fenris grimaced. “No.”

“She likes perfume and she likes shoes,” Cal protested with a laugh. “It’s really perfect.”

“Then I suggest you give it to Hawke,” Fenris said, not without a dry note of condescension.

“Is that a dare? Are you daring me?” Balancing the tiny bottle on his palm, Cal considered. “I mean, I think I could get away with it.”

“You are the only one, I suspect.”

“Hey!” Fenris’ insulting tone only broadened Cal’s grin. “You don’t even know half of the things I get away with.”

If Cal knew exactly what he’d done to make Fenris smile, he would put it in a bottle. Today, he didn’t know what had made that one corner of Fenris’ mouth curl in amusement, so Cal only stood there, grinning back, until his friend turned away.

“Sorry, wait, wait, I need to know what this smells like,” Cal said, pulling at the bottle cork. “Do you think it smells like feet?”

Somehow, the perfume smelled worse than feet. The familiar stench that came out of the glass shoe was thick like rotten fruit, sickly sweet and spiced as it coated his nostrils.

“Maker, Fenris, I don’t think this smells like Hawke.”

He tipped the open bottle towards Fenris, and, immediately, he knew he’d made a horrible mistake. What was left of his smile curdled, and the fresh color fell from his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Cal blurted, yanking the bottle away and trying to shove the cork back in.

“No.” Fenris was already moving away. “I need to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Cal repeated stupidly. He cursed his stiff hands and missing fingers as he fumbled, finally throwing the offending bottle back on the table. “Fen – wait!”

It was a short chase. He couldn’t have caught up to Fenris unless the elf slowed for him, Cal knew, but Fenris did not greet him when he found him in a back alley, one hex up from the marketplace. With his shoulders bunched and head hooked forward, Fenris paced.

Cal slid into the shadows beside him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Fenris’ feet paused and he shook his head. “I felt - strange.”

“You’re alright.”

“No! I am not alright.” Anger raised Fenris’ voice then broke it. “This is not -”

Cal watched Fenris’ hands ball into fists, the metal joints of his gauntlets squeezed tight, and swallowed another apology. The smell of the perfume still clung to Cal’s nose, and he knew now where he had smelled it before. He had smelled the stuff in bars and brothels and back alleys like this one when old men slathered themselves in it in their attempts to feel young.

Words caught in Cal’s throat, and the silence was filled only by Fenris’ continued footsteps. Three paces past Cal, Fenris spun around again. This time, the movement was faster, more frantic; the lines of Fenris’ neck were stretched tight, and his mouth was twisted.

“Fenris?”

His friend didn’t respond, seemingly unable to tear himself away from the invisible danger. Unable to stand the panic etched into Fenris’ face, Cal did something foolish: he put his hand on Fenris’ shoulder.

The simple touch swung Fenris’ focus back to Cal. Instinct, or whatever threads of Force magic were tied to him, told Cal to fight an incoming blow. He didn’t. The blow never came.

Under Fenris’ furious eyes, he withdrew his hand, but did not move his feet.

“You’re alright – I promise. They aren’t here.”

“I know that, mage.”

The old insult, snarled through clenched teeth, drove Cal back a step, not because it stung, but because it sounded frightened.

“Okay,” Cal said. When he opened his mouth, he’d meant to say that if they were here, he would kill them. He’d meant to say that he would break their bones.

Instead, he waited quietly as the fury and fear slowly fell from Fenris’ footsteps, replaced by an awkward shuffle of shame.

“I need to go.”

Fenris had reached the end of the alley when Cal found his voice again.

“Can I walk up with you? I have a few things to square away with Aveline.”

For a moment, Cal was sure Fenris would refuse him and his cheap excuse, see-through like one of the frilly scarves. Instead, he merely nodded.

“Fine.”

[sideblogformindtrash]

Orfeu and Haru Ver. II.

Cw: Mentioned noncon (not too explicit this time); Mentioned starvation/food insecurity; pet whump; dehumanization; humiliation;

The pet wakes up in that man’s arms. Orfeu, if he recalled.

He has his hands resting over the pet’s hips, hands that look like they belong to a monster, ink black until almost the elbows, nails thick and curled like that of a beast. Pet still surprised those claws got inside him and somehow hurt less than Master’s soft fingers.

Turning to the side he sees Farlan’s up and getting dressed to go to his college lectures. He figures the guest is the only reason why he wasn’t kicked from the bed today as soon as Master woke up. He tries to get up by himself rather than wait for the man to wake and push him down…

“Stay”

He freezes staring dumbly at his Master. He rolls his eyes, his patience always too short for the pet. 

“Stay. You’re allowed. At least while he’s cuddling you”

He lets the air escape his lungs, sinking back into the sheets and quite relieved. Still, he remains weary as he watches Master moving around the room, combing his hair and putting it on a ponytail, dressing up in his tailored suit and applying so much cologne the Pet has to bury his face on the pillows to hold back the sneezes.

Master always smells so good. His favorite cologne has tops of lemon and jasmine and a soft wooden background. It denounces his arrival before the master enters a room, and lingers after he leaves. It has also impregnated the sheets, the pillows and even the pet itself, sticking on his skin and leaving a trace where he was held. 

After he’s done playing or hurting him, Master takes him to the bathroom and places him on a tub which he lets fill with mercifully warm water. He washes his back with milky soap and his hair with strawberry shampoo. Sometimes, he baths by himself too, making extra sure he’s clean and groomed to his Master’s liking. 

Still, the Master's smell is stronger.

It stays, no matter how much he scrubs his skin.

Which is why he’s oddly glad about how much the guest just… stinks. 

He stinks of sour cigarette smoke, candle wax and forest mold, sweat and booze and sex and asphalt. He stinks and for once, it overpowers Master’s lemony scent. 

Once Master finally leaves, he sinks his head on the man’s chest and inhales, trying to pick apart all that makes his smell, nuzzling a little so his stubble beard scratches the pet's face. 

Unfortunately that wakes him up, and they lock eyes, pearly blue in toxic green ones. He feels himself grow cold, afraid he’ll be hurt for waking him, but the man simply smiles, a row of creep teeth. He thought those were fascinating, but wondered how much it hurt to make them look like this. 

“Good morning” he says, and Pet cringes at his breath. And Orfeu notices “Oh, guess I need to brush my teeth. And a shower-”

Two mistakes. It’s barely eight in the morning, and he’s made two mistakes with Master’s new guest. He’s shaking…

“I-I- nhh s-s-sorry, pet… dirty, pet is, is, not-”

“Shhh” he picks up one of Pet’s white locks, playing with it between his distorted fingers “Not a big deal. I have an idea. Why don’t you go get us some breakfast, while I wash, hm?”

He nods, nearly jumping out the bed. 

He doesn’t bother getting dressed. He knows it bothers some of the workers of the mansion but… it’s nothing that they haven’t seen before. And he’s been through… so much worse, he hardly feels humiliated by the nakedness anymore. 

“Good morn- Oh fuck. Please wear clothes” Ms. Lenora complains, as the pet runs into the kitchen. 

He blushes a little and waves at the housekeeper apologetically, one of the few employees that work at the house. It’s a small task force and there’s always a lot of work to be done. The Pet has to help sometimes, and while most of them are either bothered or even hostile towards the pet, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“It 's alright. Go see if you can find something in the laundry room, I’ll prepare your food” She says, just smiling at him.

"G-guest" Speaking is getting harder and harder these days.

"Guest?” She frowns. Farlan must have forgotten to warn her, but she knows Pet wouldn't lie about "Fm. Guess you’ll need something better than oatmeal then. Now, please, get dressed-"

He nods, going past the kitchen and into the laundry room. People there glare, disgusted by his presence, his nakedness, the violence marked on his body. He quickly snatches a shirt from the clean pile. It’s Master’s, but he won’t mind. 

He smiles when he gets back into the kitchen, seeing Lenora preparing a tray with avocado toast and eggs, cuts of meat and picked fruits. He hesitates for a second, then approaches to help her, which earns him a soft pat on the head.

“Good boy”

Something deep inside him says he should feel humiliated by this sort of affection. But it’s all that exists in his world, and oh, he’d take humiliating affection over pain any day. 

Finally he carries the tray back upstairs, hoping this man Orfeu allows him to eat. He’s not good at starving. Farlan is not the most merciful of Master’s, but he’s generous about food, only denying it when it annoys him enough for a hard punishment.

But sometimes he’s left under the care of Master’s father, Gerard, the lord of the house, who is very prone to making him starve. ‘A petite little songbird’, the man says, feeding him nothing but what he can lick off of his fingers.

He remembers them fighting the first time his Master traveled and left the pet under Gerard’s care. After a week, when he came back, the pet went to welcome him and ended up passing out from starvation. 

“Oh, that’s fancy” Orfeu says, coming out of the bathroom and throwing himself on the bed, a towel wrapped around his hair. 

“Come on-” he taps the bed by his side, coaching the pet to sit by his side. He does it hesitantly. Master Farlan would be angry if they dropped food on the sheets… but he’d be even angrier if the pet denied a guest's request, so he obeys.

…He immediately notices the smell. He must’ve stolen the cologne because he smells exactly like Farlan now. He swallows, wondering why this makes him feel grief. 

“Did you make the food?” 

“H-h-helped” the pet mumbles, a bit thrown aback by how casually he talks. He must be used to pets. Maybe even have some of his own.

“Own, it's very good”

The pet just nods, hands crossed politely over his lap, trying not to stare at the food.

"You aren't much of a talker, are you?"

He flinches hard. It used to be so easy.

"I-I can, ifsir wamt. Msorry Sorry" he whispers, feeling the words roll and mix, his tongue too heavy to properly form them.  Why speak, if no one wants to hear? "Hard. Msorry"

"It's alright, love" 

He realizes the pet staring and chooses to be merciful, cutting a piece of toast and taking the piece to his lips. He parts them obediently and chews the food slowly, enjoying the taste. It also makes for a good excuse to stay quite.

“You don't have to. I'd like you to, if you can. But I don't mind if you don't want to"

It sounds like a mockery, if not for his genuine expression. 

Pets don't have wants, or so they say. Of course it's a lie. The pet wants a lot of things. It's just that a pet's wants are meaningless. 

He just obediently opens his mouth again, letting the man place a piece of fruit inside. So it seems that just like Gerard, this man likes to hand feed pets, enjoying the utter submission of the act. He does his best not to resent that, at least he's being generous with the portions, letting him chew a cut of strawberry. 

"He said you don't have a name…" the pet struggles not to flinch with the way Orfeu toys with the knife.

Thankfully, he simply cuts a piece of the meat for himself. 

"I kinda wanna give you one"

…Pet stares. This screams of a trap. He recalls him telling that to the master last night, and Farlan being very clear that the pet does not deserve one.

"Sir'angry" he replies, the best he can, in between the little bits of food he's being fed. 

"Farlan? Nah, I'll handle him" Orfeu promises, seeming all too confident. Well, it's true the Master seems to forgive a little more disrespect from him than from most others… but this is a big thing. 

"It's unfair to not be named. I'll think of something. You can help too" he offers. 

The pet shakes his head shyly. It's not for him to decide. But… he kinda hopes this strange man can indeed get him named. He'd like to be someone. 

tag: @whump-blog

[alettertothesea]

Once Upon A Time

It was the first time he was coming back here in years. He never thought he would set foot here again. In this city. In this street. In front of this door. The last time he had closed it behind him, he had sworn to himself that he would never come back. Yet here he was, one hand gripping the handle and weighing up the pros and cons of whether to lower it. Because this house wasn’t just any building and the pale imitation of the others forming the residential precinct. It was the only place he could call home. And he didn’t really know what he was doing here today. Why he had bought a train ticket at the last minute. Why he had spend hours sitting on an uncomfortable seat last night to be standing in front of this door.

Sighing and wiping away with an invisible hand any thought that could make him turn and run away from this place, Hinata opened the door and stepped inside. He might have been surprised at the atmosphere that suddenly wrapped him or the odor that covered the walls of his nostrils. But a draft hit him violently like a gust of wind in a storm. The humidity and mold of the time didn’t fill the place. The mixture of floral perfume and chemicals from fresh paint wasn’t floating in the air. After so many years, the house still had that same smell of fresh laundry with a hit of citrus. Hinata smiled when he recognized the subtlety of the fruit. Tangerine.

“Why did you buy tangerines? You don’t even like them!”

“But you do. Moreover, just because I don’t eat them doesn’t mean I hate their fragrance! Besides, I fell in love with a big, sweet and at times sour tangerine. So how can I hate them?”

A snort crossed his sealed lips when the last bits of memory evaporated from his mind and from before his eyes; jumping at the same time at the sound he had just made. How long had it been since he laughed with such innocence? With such fondness? With so much love? How long had it been since he actually laughed?

It had taken him years to start over after that day. Yet a few seconds in this house seemed to cure all his sorrows and heal all the scars left open within him.

Hinata went further into the house. Nothing had moved or changed. He didn’t know why this fact surprised him, because, technically, it was normal for everything to stay as its righteous place if nobody lived here. If no human presence animated this skeleton of concrete, wood and plaster. Still, he couldn’t prevent his heart from squeezing painfully in his chest. He couldn’t help sliding his forefinger along the edge of a piece of furniture to collect a thin layer  of dust. Or his eyes to fall on one of the photos placed here and there throughout the house. The picture painted an immeasurable happiness. An unconditional love. A loving home.

With a trembling hand, Hinata took the frame. His already tight throat constricted even more. He gulped past the lump in the middle of it. His eyes glazed from the tears that had created an opaque curtain over them. He gently stroked the cheek of the second man who was frozen on the glossy paper. In the halo of sunlight, the man with ebony hair and midnight blue eyes (which no one could see because he had closed them), so dark that Hinata had always had the sensation of drowning in the depths of the ocean, was smiling like Hinata had never seen him smile. His lips were stretched to his ears and his straight white teeth were visible.

“Why did you develop it? And why did you put it here on display?”

“Because people need to know you can smile!”

“I look stupid!”

“No, you look beautiful!”

The photo pressed against his chest, right on his heart, Hinata found himself on the engawa. Sliding slowly down the beam, his gaze lost in the vastness of the garden, which didn’t look like a wilderness, as if someone came to maintain it regularly, Hinata wondered how things had turned out that way. How the light could have given way to darkness so quickly. How the sun, the cloudless azure sky could have been chased away so that an eternal night settles over his head.

“I came back. You begged me to and I told you I would. But where are you?”

[blackiraven]

I recently played “Vampire: TMB”, so it was born...

This rough sketch was written in a few nights when I had free time between writing my master's thesis. Therefore, I do not know if it is possible for this vampire au to continue.

The Bloody Kiss of a Nightmare.

Again, night slowly crept out from behind the distant horizon and pounced on the cramped city. Darkness filled all the small corners, swallowed the inaccessible tops of multi-storey buildings. The rays of the warm sun could no longer protect mortals, and therefore the creatures of evil once again broke out into the fresh, frosty air. Hunger and thirst with internecine strife pulled them, like a leash, on a new hunt.

And only in one place did darkness and gloom always live. A lair hidden from everyone underground, a real frozen crypt right under the city center. The perfect home for one of the most dangerous creatures. The stone walls absorbed all the noise of streets and houses coming from above. Several small rooms seemed endless because of the viscous blackness in which the interior items were drowned. The owner saw everything perfectly and was guided. But the light sources were still present here: a lot of burning candles lined up in long rows and illuminated the road. It was a small gesture of hospitality.

The sounds of light and calm footsteps resounded on all sides. The newly arrived guest knew perfectly well and realized where fate had brought him today. Riddler's cane was confidently knocking on the floor, creating a rhythm that relieves tension. All the short way he was carefully accompanied by a tall and nimble shadow, jumping from wall to wall. The twitching flame of the candles molded different images and different creatures from human nightmares out of the shadows. - You came to me... - Scarecrow whispered with satisfaction and even a little surprised when Riddler reached the library - a source of valuable knowledge about vampires, ancient magic and alchemy. This collection accumulated over decades is always proudly displayed to every visitor of the abode of fear. - Your invitation was too attractive.- a silk-gloved hand slipped noiselessly under the emerald jacket and took out a neatly opened envelope. This letter, written in the old-fashioned way, with pen and ink, was brought by the black raven, personally into the hands of Nygma. On paper Crane expressed his great desire to meet with him. And some lines were able to reach out and gently touch the strings of the soul and the curiosity of Riddler.

"Your image is stuck in my head. You collect paper birds from my thoughts and release them into free flight."

Thin threads of darkness intertwined in front of Edward into a viscous clot. From this mixture of whispers and barely perceptible screams of each victim, a tall and thin figure came out to him, covered with patches of black-brown leather sewn with large seams and wrapped with thick ropes. Long hair partially concealed a pale, sharp face. - Hello, Edward. I'm glad you decided to come here. You don't have to be afraid of me.- the hoarse voice tried to sound polite and restrained. The clawed hands slowly reached out to the warm human palm. Riddler did not resist and allowed Scarecrow to take off his glove and kiss the soft skin with thin icy lips.

"My job is to pick up a mask of horror for everyone, but I don't want my art to creep into your mind."

- Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Let me guess, a powerful vampire like you called me in order to... - feeling slight goosebumps caused by the dead cold, Edward smoothly pulled his hand back to stroke the monster standing in front of him on his sunken cheek.

- Yes... I want to taste you... drink you.- baring his long, thin fangs, Crane growled excitedly and buried his nose in the tender palm in order to enjoy the smell and warmth of the blood circulating in the vessels a little more. When ordinary people fall into the lair of a Scarecrow, they are doomed to cruel death and complete draining, but Riddler was special. The blood in his veins is unique, valuable. Bloody ambrosia, vampire wine, moon blood – there are many names, but the meaning is the same.  This magnificent taste will bring any vampire to ecstasy and overwhelm with crushing power. Edward Nygma actively uses his peculiarity and quickly took a cozy place among the vampires of Gotham. There are only a few like him all over the world, and at the moment it is unknown how the owners of this blood appear. That is why Riddler was never afraid of vampires, but, on the contrary, tamed them and subdued them. The most obedient, loyal and dutiful are rewarded with a couple of sips of golden blood. Killing or incarcerating these precious people is punishable for any creature, so Eddie has long since exchanged human society for vampire society.

The invitation from Jonathan Crane is a great success, as he is a very strong, cruel and deadly vampire, sorcerer and scientist. And Nygma wished to have such a useful ally. - Oh, how straightforward. I like the openness of your kind. And how can fear satisfy a genius?- Riddler switched to a playful whisper, which pleased Scarecrow. The glove fell off the second hand and there was more pleasant warmth. These touches felt different and stirred up everything long dead inside. He came close to his guest and carefully examined the undistorted fear face. A sly smile, but not cutting the spine, a soft and full of life look. Soaked in dark magic, the body clearly caught every breath and heartbeat. A charming and alluring melody that will evoke memories of a past life for everyone and awaken echoes of faded human feelings.

"I began to be interested in the magic of dreams, as I would love to visit your dreams."

- The embodiment of fear will never encroach on you. I can come to you in dangerous moments - just think about me. Your best subordinates will be able to learn some useful things from me, if they can survive it, of course. In return, I want the opportunity to study your phenomenon and taste it. But don't flirt with my loyalty, Mr. Nygma, it can make me very angry...- in order to think soberly and not accidentally overdo it, John, reluctantly, was forced to stop the velvet touches. He is one of those who was able to break the bonds of his relatives and kill the one who turned him, take all strength for himself, and then also get and absorb the past generation.

At first it was only a scientific interest, a craving for study and discovery in a clouded offshoot. But after finding out the details about the first known owner of moon blood in Gotham, the vampire began to attract something to him. - Perfect. And you haven't seen how I play my games yet. You might like it.- but Edward was not at all afraid of Crane's well-known reputation, for him it was a new and large-scale game, a long and exciting round. Scarecrow's offers and patronage completely suited him. The figures were placed, the cards were distributed. The first move is to conclude a contract. Riddler defiantly loosened his green tie and unbuttoned the first buttons of his white shirt.

- Do you trust me with your neck? Will you let me leave a mark and make you mine?- Jonathan shook his head curiously. Straight claws carefully walked up the chest and straightened the ironed collar. The source of the holy blood opened to him like a flower awakened after winter, like a juicy fruit that is about to fall from a tree. The smell of this man captivated the vampire, intoxicated him and invited him. - Believe me, I am confident in myself. And in you, Professor Crane.- with a strong grip, Riddler grabbed Scarecrow's shoulders and brazenly pressed himself against an almost new ally so as not to lose his balance in the future. But Jonathan quickly joined in a short flirtation and picked him up, holding him by the waist and head. The bared fangs approached the skin, the nostrils inhaled an attractive smell again, the long tongue slowly licked the appropriate place. - Mmm... when is a human's blood ready for vampire consumption? When it boils up with anticipation…-

"Will you allow me to taste a piece of you and appropriate it for myself?"

Abruptly, like a beast, Crane clung to Nygma's neck, right into the cherished artery. For the first time, Scarecrow's bite was intentionally painless. Bloody ambrosia poured in large streams down his throat to his stopped heart. Riddler immediately tensed, stiffened, but after a second he went limp in his hands and began to moan loudly from the pleasure that a bite creates by mutual consent. Deep sighs and shudders awakened a vampire growl. It was indescribable, every sip gave a feeling of sweet oblivion and rebirth. It was as if there was no turning into a vampire. All the forgotten human pleasures are entwined in a single euphoria. The grains of good memories formed into rich and colorful pictures. The warm, spicy drink turned his head and carried far-far away that he could reach the moon. The blood he drank filled him with strength and new thoughts, reflections. The incessant human groans of bliss made the harsh vampire melt and drop a couple of unsalted tears. John will forever remember the scent of blood and the special rhythm of the heartbeat with breathing, by which he will be able to find Edward among the crowd, and even underground. This valuable life is in his hands and now he will not allow anyone to take his treasure. At the right moment, Scarecrow stopped and licked a deep bite mark. Riddler, still arriving in the semblance of an orgasm, lost consciousness due to blood loss and continued to breathe deeply. - Finally, you're mine... - Crane licked lips that had absorbed the blood and then kissed Nygma to grab a little more vital warmth. Now the embodiment of horror and nightmare protects the mortal prince of puzzles, who will cherish his tamed vampire. Perhaps this is the beginning of something more than just a union.

"I collect other people's screams, crying and pleas for mercy. But now my goal is your groan, which will rise above all the exhibits."

[snotsloth]

1826 words today. Brychan and Gale talked a little more on the mystery of the source of Brychan's magic. Astarion got to bask in a sunbeam. Brychan touched something he probably shouldn't have. And Shadowheart lost her patience with all of them.

Favorite passage from today:

Circling the statue, Astarion reached out and ran his hand along its pedestal. His eyes were transfixed by the way the sunlight bounced off his pale skin, giving it a translucent glow, and revealing a faint pink undertone like the color of apple blossoms in early spring.

He turned around to face the sunlight, letting his eyes fall closed. For a moment he leaned against the dais and basked in the warm light. It seeped deep into his bones and he felt an ancient knot between his shoulder blades release. With a content sigh, he let his shoulders fall, almost completely relaxed.

“You remind me of a cat,” Brychan’s voice startled Astarion from his reverie. He looked over his shoulder and saw Brychan peeking around the statue with a shy smile. “Don’t know how you can be so pale when you obviously love the sun so much.”

Astarion held back a bitter laugh so that it was just a soft snort out of his nose. “I haven’t had much opportunity to spend time sunbathing recently. I’m a bit of what you call a night owl, I suppose,” he said.

Wandering past Astarion and through the sunbeam, Brychan surveyed the ancient chancel surrounding the statue. It was made mostly of flat stones, stacked snuggly together with little in the way of adornment aside from decorative arches molded into the wall and two large columns that helped hold up the ceiling. Large bronze sconces were embedded in the side of the columns and two large candelabras framed the statue on either side.

“Wonder if this was some sort of temple or monastery at some point,” Brychan mused. “Everything feels kind of… sparse and religious, but I haven’t found anything that points to a particular divinity that I recognize.” He laughed to himself and turned back to Astarion with a self-depreciative smile. “Though I’ll be the first to admit that I still don’t have a great grasp of all the gods and goddesses flitting about Faerûn. Religion isn’t really my strong suit.”

“I wouldn’t be too bothered with learning,” Astarion said with a dismissive hand wave. “It’s not like they’re of much good to us mere mortals anyways. You’re right though, this place does seem to have a bit of a religious air about it. Under all the mold and mildew, you can smell the repression.”

[entropywritez]

CHAPTER THREE of An Unwanted Inheritance: Speculation and Prediction.

~ 1k words. Armani goes to the library, peoplewatches, and talks a little to the reader about his mother.

Libraries are living things. Not in the poetic sense humans referred to them long before properly interacting with faeries, but quite literally alive. Faren rushes through their walls. They get angry when their insides grow stagnant. It’s for this reason, among many, that it only costs thirty cents for a library card, and late fees are only five cents. The libraries need to be entertained. 

Despite how easy it is to describe them as looming, gloomy affairs, the library was also the best place to be if it was summer, you hated the heat, and had friends who at the very least wanted to check out the periodical section.

Alex and I sighed with relief as we entered through the airlock, allowing the cool, paper-scented air to wash over us. We stood just like that in the lobby for a moment, before going about our business. 

I returned the books I’d already finished to the re-shelving cart. Alex approached the librarian at the counter to check on a book he had on hold. He and I both looked at the summer recommended reading display in the middle of the lobby. We dragged each other to look at the nonfiction section for each of our separate interests. We flipped through an encyclopedia of fungi together, gawking at mushrooms and mold and close-ups of spores. Alex checked the flyers section for a fiber arts competition he’d heard about at the post office once and never again. I checked the flyers section for a doll exhibition I wanted to visit. We checked the physical media section for music we could copy onto our computers and move to our phones. We checked out our books. We found a cozy spot to sit, right between the reference and romance sections. We read.

Peace is easy to disturb, when it is found in a place everyone else has access to. 

After the first ten pages of a terrible novel I picked up, someone sat at one of the worktables parallel to ours. 

I looked up briefly. 

Behind Alex’s head and the remarkably large, square book he was reading, I caught sight of overstyled blonde hair. 

I promptly looked back down at the novel in my hands and hoped the stranger from Dad’s shop hadn’t seen me. 

Alex lowered his book just enough to look at me. “What is it?” He whispered. We were already whispering, it was a library after all, but this was a whisper for secrets instead of a whisper for volume. 

“Guy I met at the shop. Horrible. Don’t need to talk to him.”

He didn’t need to talk to me, either. I watched him check something out at the counter, talking just too loud with the librarian. He left promptly, leaving behind the smell of manly-scented products. 

Alex and I made eye contact. “Suppose he just recently moved in?” He asked.

“I hope not. I barely said ten words to him, and he managed to be rude throughout that whole conversation.”

“Impressive. Maybe he’s a tourist.”

“Maybe.”

Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder to greet me. I jumped, slapping my book shut. “Saav’est. Thanks for bringing me lunch, ‘Maa’ni.”

I looked up at him, shrugged. “No problem. I was going to stop by the shop anyway.”

“I thought you were going to hang out with Alex today?”

“I was. He had to go home to do more post office work.”

“He’s a busy kid.” 

Dad sat down next to me on the couch I’d migrated to—an old leather thing someone donated. “Watcha got to read?”

I held up the cover to show him. He examined it, nodded. “Seems interesting enough.”

I shrugged. “Keeps me entertained.”

He nodded again, offering no response. He didn’t need to.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my eyes. I stared straight ahead and squeezed one hand between the book’s pages. 

“It’s been a year,” I said.

I wanted him to respond. I wanted him to offer something fatherly and warm. 

Dad inhaled deeply. “The wounds will heal, but they will leave scars,” he recited. Scroll seven, chapter three: The Crow and her Chicks. 

I nodded. My vision grew foggy and wet. It didn’t feel like I’d done much healing at all, really. Every time I opened my web-mail to learn that the police had done nothing to find my mom, my mom, I was scratching the scabs on my knees.

He sat up straighter and pulled me into a one-armed hug. “We love her still.”

I nodded again.

I was seven years old. I watched my mom kiss a man I’d been reluctant to call dad in a kitchen that wasn’t familiar to me as he stirred a pot of something I had never tasted. I couldn’t remember any other kitchen, or any more familiar food. My mom smiled at me. What a wonderful man we’ve found ourselves, my ‘Maa’ni. When you cut the first syllable off my name, it meant priest-ruler in Faelic. She wasn’t religious, but she said the name suited me.

Dad clapped my shoulder again and stood. “Curry for dinner?”

“Sure. Sounds tasty.”

I was fifteen now, sitting in the same kitchen, watching the same man cook the same dish. The room felt too large without her.

My dad and I knelt in front of the stone idol we’d erected in her name behind the house. The Fae and the cicadas and the crickets sung all around us. We left an offering of a few beads, a few pieces of soap, and a bowl of curry. Dad prayed aloud for the both of us, his voice echoing into the warm, sticky night. 

I stood in a field, the same Star I’d always known reclining before me in his throne of gold and iron. The wind whipped my hair left and right, little droplets of water stinging my eyes. 

The Star grinned, took a draw from his long, thin pipe. “Your luck will come in due time, Maa’nin’en.”

I jolted awake in bed, squeezing my stuffed wolf. I groaned and rolled over to go back to sleep. Stars were so… You know. Starrish. All cryptic.

[ohyousillypotater]

Wheels

It’s essentially like a dream, a dream I keep waking up from but can’t seem to escape.

The connotation of the word dream always seems to be positive. Meh. You know how when you’re in a dream, you’re in one place, and suddenly a second or a minute later you’re somewhere else –––– without moving, or knowing how you got there? Essentially it’s the same thing, the daily… motions I go through. I’m here, and then I’m there, I blink, and I’m somewhere else. I’m awake, and aware, but it’s all cyclical. It feels cyclical. Essentially like sleepwalking.

I blink, I’m in the backseat of a car. Blink, I’m in a classroom, blink, I feel the cold granite tile underneath me and the beads of shower water weave through strands of my hair. Blink, it’s morning. Blink, fuck this.

It’s like a different kind of autopilot, like you don’t have to tell yourself to breathe or blink ––– but all the synapses in my brain just have this fluidity where I am just devoid of any kind of conscious thought ––– I make my coffee, I put on my shoes, I take my notes down, I’m sitting on my bed, about to well, go to bed, and well, I just.. I wake up.

Sure, I’m awake, but before I sleep, I really wake up, like I literally get around to actually thinking, and I think ––– what have I done today that can be considered really worthwhile? And I get around to thinking about the burden of existence, stupid, ambitious and abstract ideas, just lying down in bed on the brink of midnight until the slightest peek of dawn escapes my blinds. Am I just a gear in the clockwork of this Earth? I mean, fuck, sure, that sounds important, but really it makes me feel so miniscule and both full and utterly bereft of purpose. Like, if by some weird voodoo magic, if I was written out of existence, the fabric of the universe would probably go haywire, but that would be just an incidental casualty, because if you really saw how my life panned out on a daily basis, it wouldn’t have been much of a loss.

Blink, I’m in front of a television set, occupied and restless –––– and I feel like art imitates life and life imitates art and it’s cyclical, but it’s a nice, beautiful kind of cycle. Like the Ptolemaic model, or major scales moving only in octaves, the energy borne of circular motion ––– or… clockwork.

Sometimes, I feel. It doesn’t matter what or how, I just do. Feel, like a verb. Through every single sense ––– I see the streetlights framing the grain of the road when I open the car window, I taste the simplest joy of ultra-processed death in a fast food takeout box, I hear that Mustang Sally bass line when I’m really listening, I smell heaven in my linens when I take them out of the laundry basket. And I feel, I feel the unmistakable warmth of your breath when I don’t realize, when the hum of air conditioning finally lulls me to sleep, I feel the crater on my pillow where your head used to be, and I bolt this consciousness. I take it back, free me from this sharp pain, and take me back to apathy, take me back to avoidance.

Because I used to move my finger from blemish to blemish, tracing some kind of system in your skin, and I used to tremble when you whispered into my nape thinking I was asleep, and I used to feel the singular focus and nature of longing, I used to melt and mold myself everyday to accommodate every crevice of the fractures in your heart, in your life, in your mind. The fluidity of desire, the fluidity of my personhood –––– it was all gone, it’s all gone, now I’m a rigid shell of who I used to be, moving in a gross, repetitive and predictable pattern, unrealized and more of a demographic than anything else.

I used to relish in delusion, in your supposedly underserved attention, while you relished in the affirmation of the heat of my cheeks, and an affectionate rush of blood and a faster pulse ––– of the state of undress, physically and emotionally. The dynamic and push-pull feeling of loving less/more.

Blink, I’m tying your shoes, blink, you’re walking away.

I don’t want you back. I’m comfortable. I’m realized. Fake it til you make it. Good posture makes you seem like a confident person, why the hell not, right?

My mother said once that time stops for nobody, or did my father say that? Or was it Jesus, or Buddha, or Pablo Neruda, or Chicken Soup for The Tardy….

I don’t want to embark on some soul-searching, Drops of Jupiter, manic pixie life changing trip to France or something. I don’t need a fucking coming-of-age self-actualization triggering plot device. I don’t need that. I don’t need some sort of off-the-grid catalytic fissure in my life.

I want to be whole again, but I want to find it in the bottom of a good cup of coffee, or the froth of an ice-cold beer with a few who have stuck with me, through the rumble of train arrivals and departures ––– the cyclical life ––– I am slowly finding dimensions, eclipsing you, these brief moments of feeling, enjoyment, dare I say excitement. Someone else’s car stereo. New cycles. Intersections.

I need to find the beauty in clockwork, once more, if not endlessly.

[casbeeminestiel]

Story time.

Once I was painting before dinner, and I had these used brushes in this blue lobster cup. Well, my parents told me to put the supplies aside so we could eat. I put everything on this laundry rack except for the cup; that, I placed on top of this high cupboard.

And then I forgot about it. For a week.

Now, you might be thinking “A week? That’s it??”. But that wasn’t it. Because I live in a place with soup for air (Florida), and this cup had water in it when I put it up there.

So naturally, when I noticed it, my first thought was “There Is Mold In The Cup”, followed immediately by, “I Cannot Bring Myself To See, Smell, or Touch Mold Today, Therefore Cup Stays.”

Three months passed in a similar fashion. I would walk into the kitchen, see the cup, my fingers would twitch, and my brain would stop me at the thought of mold. This was prior to my ADHD diagnosis or starting medication, and while I had a suspicion, I was just too ashamed to ask someone to clean the cup for me because my brain wouldn’t allow it.

So I didn’t say a word. The lobster cup was my own personal demon, haunting me from above, certainly full of mold and despair. Every time I would walk into the kitchen and saw it, I would feel a guilt spiral because why was something so inconsequential so paralyzing to me?

Eventually, someone took the cup down. I don’t remember if it was me. Either way, I’m the only active painter in the family and I reasonably had to clean the brushes and the cup that was now sitting in the sink.

“This is it,” I thought. “I need to see the consequences of my inaction up close and personal.” I crept towards the edge of the sink, peered over the rim of the cup, and to my horror I saw-

No mold. No mold. Not even a speck. The water had evaporated and left nothing behind. The only casualty was a crack in the wood of my biggest paintbrush, which was from Walmart anyways.

It has been a solid six years since this incident, and I don’t think I’ll ever let myself live it down.

Anyways. This is the story I told my mother to explain executive dysfunction, and she had the audacity to laugh.

executive dysfunction is literally like. ive had a random dollar on my floor for two weeks and i dont know when ill fit it in my schedule to pick it up. people dont realize this

[imanbenerrabeh]

thank you for the glass of water

I am like a horse. And mind you, it’s a beautiful horse. She is beautiful and stands tall. On top of this horse there is a mountain. It’s all heavy and bends her down with the weight of everything. I am a beautiful strong horse with a mountain on my back. Sometimes the mountain sways left and right. Things get hard, my love. Only when you hug me I forget about the weight of the mountain. When you were little you could never see the mountain. Now that you have grown, you and your brother, you’re tall and you see it but it does not mean that I can’t carry it. Are you mad at me? Hold my hand, so I know you’re not mad. Life is so hard at times, but I’m here. Don’t think about anything. That’s my job, to feed you and make sure you’re happy. Is it my fault?

~~~

Her back faced the fading sunlight, her face and hands all darkened by her own shadow. The backyard showed stillness, and the left side of the fence that separates us from the neighbours fallen on our overgrown grass. The result of a mid afternoon thunderstorm from a few days ago. A few days ago, when it still felt like the first day of June, the sky looked a bit like today’s. The air smells sour and wet, breathing onto every counter and hovering behind the doors. I am looking at her, as she utters the same words. The same sentences I heard twice, just in a different order. My palm in between my thighs just now and I feel a bit warmer. Maybe later I’ll say I am going for a walk around the neighbourhood. I’ll bring my perfume, and smoke one cigarette. 

In the house, the sound of water dripping echoes from the walls. When I face the sink and raise the handle, nothing spills out. Only silence. Lifted up, the world continues to spin as if I am not here. Even if I am thirsty, even if I cried all the tears I held in my body, even if say “please” - no water will come out. Nothing, nothing at all. It’s almost as if I went deaf. Every day, I am used to going over the sink with an empty Ikea glass bought secondhand in bulk, all the shapes different and incoherent. I could do it with my eyes closed. Lift up the handle in the darkness behind my eyelids, and hear the water come out all at once and then not anymore. The glass, now filled almost to the brim. Seeing the sink handle upright and no water coming out and no sound crowding the kitchen; it feels like losing all my senses. Sight is not a sense, to me it’s like drinking a glass of water - it’s only natural. It’s all I know.

~~~

The leakage in the basement reminds me of when I was younger, when I was around fourteen years old. The apartment we were renting had a mold problem, so we stayed at two different hotels for what felt like two weeks. When the memories are a few years old, time is written in italic. Something engraved in memory only sideways. 

[bonzatrading]

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