#it’s a very small window where it works

[lamphous]

not to make a long post longer, but here's the whole thing:

"The Abortion Absolutist" By Elaine Godfrey

Warren Hern has been performing late abortions for half a century. After Roe, he is as busy with patients as ever.

May 12, 2023

The sky above Boulder was dark when the abortion doctor picked me up for dinner. I had to squint to recognize Warren Hern in his thick aviator glasses and fur-trapper hat.

At the restaurant—a kitschy Italian spot along a pedestrian mall—Hern ignored the table the waiter offered us, pointed at one in the corner, and clomped over in his heavy hiking boots. He’d like to order right away, he said: the osso buco and a glass of Spanish red. How long will that take?

Hern spent the next two and a half hours of our dinner correcting me. A baby is a fetus until it is “born alive,” he told me as I chewed my bucatini. His dear friend, the Kansas physician George Tiller, was not “murdered” in 2009, he was assassinated. The activists who scream outside his clinic are not “pro-life,” they are fascists.

Pausing, Hern sighed. He is very busy, he said, and there are many things he’d rather be doing than talking to me. “But I can’t complain that the pro-choice movement has completely failed” at communicating, he said, “and then turn down an opportunity to communicate.”

I’d met Hern before, so I wasn’t surprised by his gruffness. The 84-year-old can be a curmudgeon—he’s obstinate, utterly certain of his position, and intolerant of criticism even as he dishes it out. Useful qualities, perhaps, for someone in his line of work.

Hern is now nearing his fifth decade of practice at his Boulder clinic; he has persisted through the entire arc of Roe v. Wade, its nearly 50-year rise and fall. He specializes in abortions late in pregnancy—the rarest, and most controversial, form of abortion. This means that Hern ends the pregnancies of women who are 22, 25, even 30 weeks along. Although 14 states now ban abortion in most or all circumstances, Colorado has no gestational limits on the procedure. Patients come to him from all over the country because he is one of only a handful of physicians who can, and will, perform an abortion so late.

During the first 13 weeks of pregnancy, when about 90 percent of abortions in America are carried out, the fetus’s appearance ranges from a small clot of phlegm to an alienlike ball of flesh. At 22 weeks, though, a human fetus has grown to about the size of a small melon. The procedures that Hern performs result in the removal of a body that, if you saw it, would inspire a sharp pang of recognition. These are the abortions that provide fodder for the gruesome images on protesters’ signs and the billboards along Midwest highways, images that can be difficult to look at for long.

Many of the women who visit Hern’s clinic do so because their health is at risk—or because their fetus has a serious abnormality that would require a baby to undergo countless surgeries with little chance of survival. But Hern does not restrict his work to these cases.

The phone at Hern’s clinic rings constantly these days. Since the overturning of Roe and the corresponding blitz of abortion bans, appointment books are filling up at clinics in states where abortion remains legal. Women who have to wait weeks for an appointment may end up missing the window for a first-trimester procedure. Some book a flight to Boulder to see Hern, who is treating about 50 percent more patients than usual.

These later abortions are the less common cases, and the hardest ones. They are the cases that even stalwart abortion-rights advocates generally prefer not to discuss. But as the pro-choice movement strives to shore up abortion rights after the fall of Roe, its members face strategic decisions about whether and how to defend this work.

Most Americans support abortion access, but they support it with limits—considerations about time and pain and fingernail development. Hern is reluctant to acknowledge any limit, any red line. He takes the woman’s-choice argument to its logical conclusion, in much the same way that, at this moment, anti-abortion activists are pressing their case to its extreme. Hern considers his religious adversaries to be zealots, and many of them are. But he is, in his own way, no less an absolutist.

—

In May of 2019, an envelope landed on my desk at work with a nature calendar inside. The photos—an arctic tern landing on a hunk of ice, a shock of mountain maple in the Holy Cross Wilderness, two sandhill cranes taking flight—were all credited to Hern. I’d interviewed him a week earlier for a short article about abortion-rights activism, and it amused me that a working abortion doctor was making wildlife calendars and express-mailing them to journalists. This past December, I flew to Boulder to meet him.

The Boulder Abortion Clinic is a single-story, yellow-brick building, partially hidden from the road by a wooden fence. Someone tried to shoot Hern once, back in 1988, so now the front windows are made of bulletproof glass. You have to show ID to gain access to the waiting room, and the blinds are usually drawn, leaving the whole place slightly dim. Stepping inside is like going back in time: The office is a maze of wood paneling, vinyl chairs, and faded green carpet.

The first day I visited, no protesters were chanting outside; it was a Monday, and they tend to show up on Tuesdays, which is patient-intake day. Hern’s staff sat me in an office near the front desk, where I could hear calls coming in. I listened as a receptionist told a patient named Lindsey that it was okay to be anxious; she paused a few times while Lindsey cried.

“The fee will be about $6,000,” the receptionist said. Late abortions are expensive because they are medically complex. For patients who need financial aid, the National Abortion Federation may cover some of the cost, and local abortion funds often contribute. The receptionist told this to Lindsey, and offered her the organization’s number. “You can do partial cash and credit card, yes,” she said. Often, if a woman cannot afford to pay for her hotel, her transportation to Boulder, or some part of her procedure, Hern will foot the bill himself, staff members told me.

Hern stopped performing first-trimester abortions a few years ago; he saw too much need for later abortions, and his clinic couldn’t do it all. The procedure he uses takes three or four days and goes like this: After performing an ultrasound, he will use a thin needle to inject a medicine called digoxin through the patient’s abdomen to stop the fetus’s heart. This is called “inducing fetal demise.” Then Hern will insert one or more laminarias—a sterile, brownish rod of seaweed—into the patient’s cervix to start the dilation process.

When the cervix is sufficiently dilated after another day or two of adding and removing laminarias, Hern will drain the amniotic fluid, give the patient misoprostol, and remove the fetus. Sometimes, the fetus will be whole, intact. Other times, Hern must remove it in parts. If the patient asks, a nurse will wrap the fetus in a blanket to hold, or present a set of handprints or footprints for the patient to take home.

I interviewed half a dozen of Hern’s former patients. Most of the women who agreed to talk had wanted a child. But they’d received serious diagnoses late in pregnancy: disorders with disturbing names such as prune-belly syndrome, trisomy 13, Dandy-Walker malformation, and agenesis of the corpus callosum. Some said they considered their abortions a kind of mercy killing.

“I put my baby down,” Kate Carson, who’d gotten an abortion at Hern’s clinic in 2012, told me.  She’d been 35 weeks into a much-wanted pregnancy when her doctor diagnosed multiple brain anomalies. Carson’s daughter, the doctor said, would have trouble walking, talking, holding her head up, and swallowing. “It’s euthanasia. That’s the kind of killing this is,” she said. “But I would do it again a million times if I had to.”

Amber Jones, who terminated her pregnancy at about 24 weeks in 2016, told me that her baby’s diagnosis meant he would not survive. Hern reassured her, she said, that she “shouldn’t be made to carry the pregnancy. That it’s bullshit, and we have the right to access health care.”

Carson and other patients described Hern as brusque. But they seemed to take comfort in that brusqueness, as though Hern’s fierce assurance helped them feel more sure themselves. “I wouldn’t say he has a great bedside manner,” Carson told me. But “the degree of respect that I felt from him was enormous.”

Abortions that come after devastating medical diagnoses can be easier for some people to understand. But Hern estimates that at least half, and sometimes more, of the women who come to the clinic do not have these diagnoses. He and his staff are just as sympathetic to other circumstances. Many of the clinic’s teenage patients receive later abortions because they had no idea they were pregnant. Some sexual-assault victims ignore their pregnancies or feel too ashamed to see a doctor. Once, a staffer named Catherine told me, a patient opted for a later abortion because her husband had killed himself and she was suddenly broke. “There isn’t a single woman who has ever written on her bucket list that she wants to have a late abortion,” Catherine said. “There is always a reason.”

The reason doesn’t really matter to Hern. Medical viability for a fetus—or its ability to survive outside the uterus—is generally considered to be somewhere from 24 to 28 weeks. Hern, though, believes that the viability of a fetus is determined not by gestational age but by a woman’s willingness to carry it. He applies the same principle to all of his prospective patients: If he thinks it’s safer for them to have an abortion than to carry and deliver the baby, he’ll take the case—usually up until around 32 weeks, with some rare later exceptions, because of the increased risk of hemorrhage and other life-threatening conditions beyond that point.

Even within the abortion-rights community, Hern’s position is considered a hard-line one.

Frances Kissling, the founding president of the National Abortion Federation, the professional association for abortion providers, admires Hern and his commitment to women. But she has misgivings about his work. “Later-term abortions are more serious, ethically, than earlier abortions,” Kissling, who left NAF after a few years and went on to lead Catholics for Choice, told me—and only more so in cases that involve women who have not received any serious fetal diagnoses. “My ethics are such that I would say to them, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot perform an abortion for you. I will do anything I can to help you get through the next two or three months, but I don’t do this,’” she said.

—

Hern bristles at the label abortion doctor. Too simplistic, he says. He will correct you if you use it. He is a physician, he says, who happens to specialize in abortion. Worse still is abortionist. He remains angry about a 2009 story in Esquire in which the author referred to him that way, again and again. It’s a pejorative, Hern says. He is more than his profession, he needs you to know. He is many things: an anthropologist, an epidemiologist, an adopted son of the Shipibo Indians in Peru. Abortion was never the destination for Hern, he insists; it was a detour.

As a child growing up in the suburbs of Denver, Hern dreamed of studying diseases in faraway places. During medical school, he worked as the unofficial doctor at a mining camp in Nicaragua, where he learned to speak Spanish. He spent six months in Peru, studying the culture and practices of the Shipibo. In 1966, the Peace Corps sent him to Brazil, where he learned Portuguese and trained under physicians who had started a family-planning association. Hern toured a maternity ward where one room was full of women recuperating from childbirth. Two other rooms held patients suffering from complications related to illegal abortions; at least half of those women ultimately died. This, he says, was formative.

In 1970, Hern accepted a job at the now-defunct Office of Economic Opportunity in Washington, D.C., where he led the effort to open family-planning clinics across the country and launched a voluntary-sterilization program for adults in Appalachia. Given the link between the eugenics movement and the early birth-control movement, the word sterilization can carry an ominous ring. Hern says, though, that his work was intended to give low-income people choices and reduce their financial hardship. “Families like these,” he wrote in The New Republic at the time, require housing, clean water, food, and sanitation. “But one of the most important needs is freedom from the tyranny of their own biology.”

In 1973, Hern was back in Colorado—the first state to decriminalize abortion in some circumstances—acting as a consultant for family-planning programs when the world shifted. Sarah Weddington, a lawyer friend of Hern’s from D.C., had won the Roe v. Wade case before the U.S. Supreme Court, and abortion was now legal in all 50 states. Hern wrote op-eds defending the decision and an explainer about the procedure for The Denver Post. One day, he got a call from a Colorado group that wanted to start a nonprofit abortion clinic in Boulder. Would Hern be their medical director? Of course, he told them. Absolutely.

The Boulder Valley Clinic opened in November of that same year. Hern designed the medical protocols and performed all of the abortions himself. Although one major battle for abortion rights had been won, a larger war was just beginning. Demonstrators began gathering outside the new clinic. Two weeks after it opened, Hern received his first death threat—a late-night phone call at his secluded cabin in the mountains. The man on the phone said he was coming for Hern. The doctor began sleeping with a rifle next to his bed.

In 1975, Hern took out a loan and started his own practice. He named it the Boulder Abortion Clinic—avoiding euphemisms like women’s care because he wanted patients to be able to find him. At the time, Hern had never performed any second-trimester abortions, for which the standard procedure then was to inject a saline solution into the uterus to induce labor. But Hern had read about another method in a textbook that explained how Japanese doctors were using laminarias to end abnormal or dangerous pregnancies. The method took longer, but it was safer. Hern studied the technique, ordered laminarias, and got to work.

Soon, Hern had published the first research paper on this multiple-laminaria method in American medical literature. Other clinics adopted the procedure, with modifications, and it’s been the dominant method for second- and third-trimester abortions for nearly 50 years. Hern and his staff carry out up to a dozen such terminations every week.

—

Hern was 34 when he performed his first abortion, a year before Roe v. Wade would be decided. A friend in D.C. who ran a local clinic invited him to come learn the procedure. Hern’s patient was 17 and in her first trimester of pregnancy. She wanted to be an anesthesiologist, he remembers.

Hern had learned how to do a dilation-and-curettage abortion in medical school, but still, he was terrified—and so was she. He recalls that after he finished and told her she wasn’t pregnant anymore, she wept with relief. He did too. “I was overwhelmed by the significance of this operation for this young woman’s life,” he told me. “This was a new definition, for me, for practicing medicine.”

But the work sometimes got to him. He would often retreat to his office to compose himself after an abortion. Partly, it was the high-stakes nature of the procedure. But he also needed time to process how the dead fetus looked, how removing it felt. Sometimes he’d sit in his office and think, What am I doing?

He had bad dreams too. In the 1970s, physicians did not induce fetal demise during abortion, and once or twice, during a procedure at 15 or 16 weeks, he used forceps to remove a fetus with a still-beating heart. The heart thumped for only a few seconds before stopping. But for a long while after, a vision of that fetus would wake Hern from sleep. He could see it in his mind, the inches-long body and its heart: beating, beating, beating. In one dream, Hern angled his own body to shield his staff from catching a glimpse.

Other people might have decided that this work wasn’t worth the haunting images, the pricks of conscience. They might have quit. But for Hern, the psychological stress of the work was the necessary cost of helping patients. He saw it as his job to carry some of the emotional weight. Over time, that stress became easier to manage. He stopped needing to compose himself between procedures. The bad dreams went away.

In 1978, Hern presented a paper before the Association of Planned Parenthood Physicians in San Diego titled “What about us? Staff Reactions to D&E”—dilation-and-evacuation abortion—in which he concluded that, though medically safe, surgical second-trimester abortions are clearly more emotionally difficult for providers than earlier ones.

Some part of our cultural and perhaps even biological heritage recoils at a destructive operation on a form that is similar to our own, even though we know that the act has a positive effect for a living person … We have reached a point in this particular technology where there is no possibility of denying an act of destruction. It is before one’s eyes.

I quoted that paper during a conversation with Hern, as we sat shoulder to shoulder at a bar in downtown Boulder. He was nodding before I finished. Many of his colleagues were annoyed by what he’d written, he said. The abortion-rights movement isn’t exactly eager to talk about these visuals, mostly because it gives fodder to the opposition. Hern’s comments about “destruction” still appear on a number of anti-abortion websites as evidence of the horror of the procedure.

But the point of his report was to be honest, Hern said, and he stands by it. Why not face the truth that abortion late in pregnancy is, at least in one way, destructive? He still believes that such destruction can be a profoundly merciful act.

Regardless of the circumstances of pregnancy, in Hern’s view, a woman’s life—her humanity, her wishes—isn’t just more important than her fetus’s. It is virtually the only thing that matters. That approach is diametrically opposed to the view of anti-abortion advocates, for whom pregnancy means motherhood and, often, self-sacrifice.

Hern understands that few share his total conviction. “This is a grotesque conversation to many people,” he said at the bar. “But this is a surgical procedure for a life-threatening condition.”

During that conversation and the ones following it, I prodded for cracks in Hern’s certainty. At one point, I thought I’d found one: Hern had told me about a woman who’d sought an abortion because she didn’t want to have a baby girl. I thought he had refused. But when I followed up to ask him why, I learned that I had misunderstood. Hern said he had done abortions for sex selection twice: once for this woman; and once for someone who’d desperately wanted a girl. It was their choice to make, he explained.

“So if a pregnant woman with no health issues comes to the clinic, say, at 30 weeks, what would you do?” I asked Hern once. The question irked him. “Every pregnancy is a health issue!” he said. “There’s a certifiable risk of death from being pregnant, period.”

—

Hern met the Kansas abortion doctor George Tiller at a National Abortion Federation conference in the late 1970s. The two talked on the phone nearly every week for 30 years. Tiller was the opposite of Hern—gentle, soft-spoken, churchgoing. “George was a normal person,” Hern told me once. “That distinguishes him from me right away.” Yet Tiller was murdered for doing the same work.

The phone rang at Hern’s house one morning in May 2009, and Jeanne Tiller was on the line. “George is gone,” she told Hern. An anti-abortion fanatic had shot her husband at church, where he was serving as an usher. Hern flew to Wichita for the funeral, and helped carry his friend’s casket down the aisle of the packed College Hill United Methodist Church. Sixty federal marshals stood guard at the service, he said. They told him that he would likely be the next target. Later that week, Hern performed abortions for all of Tiller’s remaining patients at his clinic in Boulder.

Thirteen years after Tiller’s death, Hern and I stayed up late talking in the restaurant of my hotel. Hern was speaking so loudly—about Donald Trump, fascism, and anti-abortion violence—that the bartender had begun to stare. Opposition to abortion has long been “the hammer and tongs to power” for the Republican Party, Hern was saying, “because of their allegiance to the white Christian nationalists and white supremacists.” Christianity, he told me, not for the first time, “is now the face of fascism in America.” That moral arc of the universe bending toward justice? “That’s the belief, but I don’t believe it.”

I asked Hern whether he ever worried that now, in a post-Roe world, he might have an even bigger target on his back. I wondered whether it was a bit reckless for him to be so outspoken with reporters like me. Actually, it’s the opposite, Hern replied. Being so vocal “increases the political cost of assassinating me.”

“That’s dark,” I said.

He simply shrugged. “This is what I have to think about.”

Suddenly, he remembered that he’d brought me something. He dug around in his coat pocket, and pulled out a fridge magnet he’d made from a photograph he took a few years ago near the island of South Georgia: penguins diving off an iceberg into the deep blue ocean.

Hern is known for presenting such gifts to people—and for regularly mailing out his latest published works. In addition to the magnet and the calendar, Hern sent me a copy of his poetry collection and his new book on global ecology. In the latter, titled Homo Ecophagus, he compares mankind to a cancer on the planet, writing that our unrelenting population growth will ultimately lead to the demise of every species on Earth. To view human beings as a scourge seems a rather ominous perspective for a man who ends pregnancies for a living. Could he see his work as, even subliminally, a form of population control? When I asked about that, Hern shook his head vigorously, waving my question away, as if he’d been ready for it. “Being concerned about population growth is consistent with the idea of helping women and families control their fertility on a voluntary basis,” he said.

Hern lives in a modest gray split-level cluttered with landscape photographs, Shipibo pottery, and mounted fossils. Some of the photographs were taken by his wife, Odalys Muñoz Gonzalez, who is 27 years his junior and whom he refers to as “mi amor.” Gonzalez is originally from Cuba, though they met at a conference in Barcelona in 2003. Back in Spain, Gonzalez directed her own abortion clinic. Now she works at Hern’s, performing nonmedical tasks and translating for Spanish-speaking patients.

Gonzalez sometimes worries that Hern comes across as too intense. “I always tell him, ‘Don’t look like Bernie Sanders,’” she told me, in her thick Cuban accent. Part of her hates that he can be so angry, so severe. “But another part of me loves,” she said. “Because how many people do you know that live with the level of passion that Warren does?” Still, Gonzalez wishes he would retire so that they could have more time to travel together and photograph wildlife.

During my stay in Boulder, I did occasionally look at Hern and wonder: Would I want you in charge of my complex medical procedure? Next month, he’ll be 85, and when he shuffles around the clinic in his turquoise scrubs and white lab coat, he looks it.

Younger providers have opened a handful of new late-abortion clinics in recent years. Some of these providers and others in the field argue that Hern’s abortion procedures take longer than they need to, and that his methods are out of date. Hern should have retired decades ago, these critics say. “Being 84 and doing procedures is problematic,” one physician, who requested anonymity in order to speak candidly about Hern, told me. (When I asked Hern about the criticism of some of his methods, he said he has always emphasized patient safety and will alter his procedures if they make the abortion safer. “If people don’t agree with me, I don’t really care,” he said. “I don’t give a shit.”)

Hern is working with two other doctors in the hope that eventually they will take over the clinic. But he’s hard to please. “I have to find the right people, train them, get them to know what needs to be done,” he says. “Finding physicians willing to do this work—who will do it well, do it carefully—is difficult.”

One morning during my visit, Hern and I climbed up the hill behind his house. The ground was muddy, and, thanks to a recent skiing injury, Hern was unsteady on his feet. I briefly wondered if this hike might bring about the end of one of America’s most famous abortion physicians. At the top of the hill, Hern pointed up toward a grassy crest of land above us called the Dakota Ridge. A big problem with modern society is that we’ve forgotten that we’re part of all this, he said, waving toward the ridge. The Bible says to “go forth and multiply and dominate the Earth and blah-blah, but that is exactly the wrong advice.”

He’s read the Bible a few times, he said. But he’s not religious; he’s spiritual. “The natural world, the forest, is my cathedral,” he said. To watch the sunrise, to see a wild animal, “just to be there, that’s a spiritual experience for me.”

And then, suddenly, Hern was connecting it all, drawing everything together: religion, Republicans, the Supreme Court, the future of American society. “These people believe stuff that’s out of the medieval times. The Pleistocene!”

He sighed. “I’m holding back,” he said, not holding back at all.

—

On my last day in Boulder, a few of the clinic staff gathered in the kitchen for an unofficial Christmas party. They’d finished the week’s procedures, and all of the patients had been sent home. Now it was time for eggnog. Gonzalez poured some into mugs, and the clinic administrator offered to spike it with a bottle of his homemade rum. They passed around a box of chocolate cupcakes that someone had brought in.

Hern congratulated his staff on a good year, and they listened, amused, while he explained that he wasn’t able to find any good Audubon calendars at Barnes & Noble for their annual staff Christmas gift. He made a joke that he’d already told me more than once: “I could just give you the calendars from last year to pass on to your Republican friends,” he said, with a laugh. “They won’t notice for about 300 years that they’re out of date.”

A dozen Christmas stockings hung on the bulletin board, each displaying a staff member’s name in glitter glue. Buttons were pinned on the board, too, including some emblazoned with George Tiller’s face. You will be greatly missed, one said. Someone had propped open an outer door for circulation, and a stack of papers near the phone rustled—instructions for how to talk to someone calling with a bomb threat. “TAKE A DEEP BREATH,” they read. “Questions to ask: When is the bomb going to explode? Where is it right now?”

Hern seemed not to notice the strange juxtaposition of it all—the eggnog and the abortions, the cupcakes and the bomb threats. The buttons with the image of his murdered friend and the fact of his own stubborn survival. Of course he didn’t. He has spent five decades living with these contradictions.

This was an interesting read. Surprisingly nonpreachy given the subject; and well worth the time.

[mommynott]

Stroke of Midnight

12 Days of Dickmas - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Theo and Mattheo help you get over your fear of heights in very fun ways 👀🎁

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18+, modern au, dom!theo, dom!mattheo, threesome, new years hook up, DP, spitroast, rough sex, anal, creampies, PIV, semi public sex, pussy eating, throat fucking, choking, spitting, nipple play, degrading, dirty talk, dom&sub, mattheodore ruining us👀

All morning the two guys who you had come to know as Theo and Mattheo, constantly flirted with you in the small ski lodge cafe where you worked. You found it cute. Endearing. The way they practically fought over on who could out flirt you.

Not expecting to see them again, especially so close to the cafe closing time. It was New Year’s Eve and not like you had plans or anything but you wanted to be home in your bed. That’s when two sets of snowy legs wandered in.

You were met with the two attractive males from earlier and laughed as you shook your head. “Can I help you two?” You asked them in a teasing tone. They both glanced at each other with smirks before facing your gaze.

“Well, you’re closing up right?” Mattheo asked lowly, stalking toward you as he ran a hand through his fluffy curls, Theodore’s smirk only growing wider. “Yeah- why?” Confusion plastered over you.

But Theodore and Mattheo had other plans in mind. “Come to the peak with us…” Theo’s accent rolled off his tongue, making you shudder while he took a step toward you. “Oh…I uh…I can’t-“

How do I even explain this without looking like a total wimp? Fuck. “Why not?” Matt cocked an eyebrow to you, the both of them crossing their toned arms over their chests. “Well….”

You began, the lights slowly shutting off in the cafe as you sighed. Your gaze flickered back and forth between the two men. “I’m terrified of heights- okay? Ski lifts and whatever are not my thing.”

Explaining yourself, Theodore gave you a sympathetic look but Mattheo continued to smirk, clicking his tongue against his cheek. “Come on pretty girl…You have us…” the curly-haired one started and your heart raced.

“Yeah…We’ll take real good care of you, Tesoro…” The Italian said lowly and you swore your heart would be bursting from your chest. Your face flushing up from the two attractive guys. How could I say no?

“I….I don’t know…I guess?” Almost questioning if this was even the right decision, the boys smiled from ear to ear as they started to walk out and you followed. “Don’t worry, Bella— we can take the gondola…It’s enclosed so you’ll feel safer”

Theodore seemed sweet, kind, and thoughtful. Your already cherried face turned even more red as you grabbed your coat and headed into the snowy night with them.

Next in line for the gondola were the three of you. Half an hour until midnight. You shivered a bit and felt the anxiety rise. “Ah— come on now doll, nothing to be nervous about. You have us!” Matt exclaimed, causing Theo to chuckle.

“Mattheo can be an idiot— regardless we’ll be with you. Seems like we’ll be ringing in the new year together-“

New years. With strangers. Hot strangers. Not too bad. You just nodded your head. The coldness getting to you but Theodore threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “Cold, Cara Mia?”

Nodding your head, your nose felt numb, reddened from the brisk air. “Just a little…” The cloud of your breath in the air had you shudder but then the bars opened and all three of you waltzed into the gondola.

At first, you sat across from the two of them. Anxiously fidgeting with the rings on your fingers as you glanced from each window. “Relax…Breath…It’ll be okay” Mattheo reassured with a chuckle.

“Are you sure?” You questioned the both of them softly as Theo hit you with yet another sympathetic gaze before quickly plopping next to you. Giving Mattheo a challenging grin. Throwing his arm around you. “Very sure—“

The Italians strong arm wrapped around you helped the nerves you felt as the gondola started to rise. The metal whirred as you ascended up the mountain. However, you stayed quiet.

Ten minutes or so had passed of silence and Theo and Mattheo messing with each other. But you were in your own head. Suddenly you heard a loud screech, the gondola coming to a halt.

“W-what’s happening?!”

Practically shouting your words, panic started to form inside of you. Your vision getting blurry and Mattheo instantly stood up to come sit on the other side of you. “I’m not sure…” He mumbled to himself as Theo tried to look down below.

That’s when an alarm went off on the speakers before a voice spoke through. “Due to maintenance, we have come to a quick stop! Don’t worry we will be back up and running shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Fuck. Me. Just my luck huh? You must’ve looked pretty shaken up because now Matt’s arm was also around you and it was taking everything in you to not break down in tears.

“Hey- hey- hey! It’ll be okay— hey! Look at me!” Theodore grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. Those inviting ocean eyes. “S-sorry…I’m just….Scared” You admitted quietly, feeling Mattheo’s fingers dance through your lush locks soothingly.

“I know…But it’ll be alright…We just need a distraction!” Mattheo chuckled but your eyes remained glued to Theo’s. You noticed him glance at your lips and your heart flipped.

He seemed to inch closer and closer, your breath getting hitched in your throat. “You’re right, riddle…And I think I know just the thing-“ Before you could even process everything, Theo slammed his lips to yours.

You didn’t even try to fight it, he tasted fucking amazing and he was right- this was a distraction. Hearing Mattheo scoff, he gripped your hair tightly, his free hand going to your thigh.

The kiss between you and Theo only deepened, Mattheo grazing his lips across the side of your neck ever so softly, causing a soft moan to whimper from you. But you didn’t stop it. Not in the least.

“If I wasn’t mistaken…”

Mattheo’s voice was low and raspy against your flesh as he teasingly bit along it, surely leaving little love marks as he went on.

“…You’re fucking loving this…You wanna take us both, Angel?”

He muttered against your collarbone, Theo groaning into the kiss as your hand went down to his pants. Feeling the throbbing boner in between his snow pants.

Mattheo growled, opening up your jacket and kneeling between your legs. Slowly working your own pants and panties off. “Fuckin hell Nott- She has one pretty fucking pussy…”

The vulgarity of his words caused you to whimper between the steamy make out of you and Theodore. The Italian chuckled at Matt’s response as one hand went to your shirt, tugging it down along with your bra to scoop up a breast of yours.

All of the sensations surely were making you forget about your fear of heights. Lost in the bliss of both of the men. Suddenly, a gasp emitted from your throat as Mattheo buried himself between your thighs.

“Feels good does it, Tesoro?”

Theodore asked, purring teasingly against your swollen lips, your foreheads now touching as your submissive gaze flickered between his own. “—Mhhhhmmm…” You managed to mumble out while Mattheo’s tongue worked in indescribable circles along your clit.

With a swift movement, Theo stole a quick peck from you before standing up and wiggling down his pants. Grabbing a fistful of your silky locks. “Good girl- now choke on my cock—“

With a growl, you barely parted your lips as he shoved his massive length down your throat. Slamming his hips against your face while he throat fucked you— Mattheo’s tongue flicking and licking as fast as he could.

Tears pricked your eyes as you fought to keep your glossed-over gaze up on the Italian- a smirk painting over his chiseled face. “You’re close aren’t you?”

You knew your muffled moans vibrating along his dick was probably giving it away and you nodded your head through his plunges in your mouth. “No— Riddle stop,” Theo demanded and Matt shot up, your juices dripping off of his chin.

“The first time I want her to cum…”

Theo shifted over next to Mattheo as he stood up and wiped his mouth. Smirking to each other, Matt moved over to where Theo stood before.

“…I want it to soak my cock—“ Theodore growled, his ocean eyes darkening into a sea of black. With a swift movement, he positioned himself between your legs, teasing his sensitive tip along your leaky slit.

“Y-yes…Fuck—“ Stuttering to yourself, your eyes dashed between the two men, feeling the gondola swing ever so slightly as they shifted over to new positions. “Beg for it-“

Theodore’s domineering tone sent a shiver down your spine- “Please-“ However before you could finish any begging, Matt shoved his cock between your lips, thrusting slowly.

“Keep going—“ The Italian said through gritted teeth, still teasing his throbbing length across your pussy. “P-please…God…Please fuck me- Please!” You spoke over Mattheo’s cock.

Theo hung his head back and let out an animalistic growl before slamming deep inside of your needy cunt. “Cazzo— So fuckin’ wet for us, huh?” He taunted you, Mattheo shooting him a shit-eating grin.

“She loves being spit roasted—“ Mattheo mumbled out deeply, fucking your throat even harder. But you? You were a fucking blissful mess between the two of them. Feeling your eyes already start to roll in the back of your head.

You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly, and your body starting to tremble with euphoric pleasure. “I think she’s getting close, Nott—“ Matt said through a low groan, turned on by the simple sexual aura of you.

“Is that so, Cara mia?”

The question had your submissive stare dancing over to Theo’s. Giving him a subtle head nod through Mattheo’s plows down your throat. Surely you’d have no voice tomorrow.

Theodore slammed his cock faster inside of you, snaking down his hand to apply pressure with his thumb around your clit. Swirling it around in tiny little circles. “Release for me—“

His demand along with all of the other sensations your body was experiencing, Sent you into an earth-shattering orgasm. Your wetness flowed freely down his throbbing length.

“Good fuckin’ girl— Cazzo-“

Theodore slowed down his thrusts, letting the afterglow wash over you while Mattheo pulled out of your mouth. The drool dripping from between your lips. “Fuck— I need to fuck her- feel her…”

Matt sounded hungry, something rumbling within him. However, you noticed the way Theo’s lips curled In a sinister manner. “How do you feel ‘bout anal, pretty girl?” He asked you, Mattheo letting a low chuckle rasp from his throat.

With widened eyes, you could feel your heart thump loudly against your chest. “I-I don’t mind it— I haven’t done it in a while though—“ Speaking shyly, Theodore raised his brows. “What about tonight…Could we both…Fill up those pretty holes of yours?”

With his question, excitement gleamed within Mattheo’s eyes and you swallowed. Fuck it. Why not right? “Y-yes…fuck- please do.” You practically begged the two men and Theo sat down on the seat across, stroking his cock while waiting for you.

Stumbling over, your legs shook with sensitivity, another taunting chuckle escaping Mattheo as he stalked behind you. “We will ease into it- yeah, Tesoro?” Theo murmured across your cheek as you turned around.

Theo’s hands spread your ass cheeks, spitting right onto your little hole before rubbing his thumb over it. He helped lower you onto his length, hissing from the foreign sensation. “Relax—“

Your head shot up to Mattheo’s eager voice, jerking himself off as Theo eased himself into your ass. You obliged, relaxing your body as Theodore slowly pumped himself inside of you.

“Fuck!— Little asshole is so fuckin’ tight-“

Moaning through his words, you didn’t feel pain or pressure…Just pleasure as he fully entered inside of you. Matt now walking up to your spread legs. “You’re such a hot little slut—“

Riddle complimented you but not wasting any time as he pushed his needy cock inside of your already stretched cunt, pounding into you mercilessly. One of his hands going around your throat and gripping hard.

Theo took this time to grab both of your breasts, pinching your nipples to a feeling of ecstasy. You felt so incredibly full and your mind was fuzzy with the immense amount of pleasure soaring within you.

“You weren’t wrong, Nott— She has a damn good pussy-“

The Italian just smirked over at his friend while he helped you move on his cock. You couldn’t even speak, get your raunchy thoughts out. But suddenly you felt that familiar feeling.

“I-I— don’t stop!— Fuck!- I’m gonna cum!”

Screaming with pleasure, you saw fucking stars as you hit yet another climax, this time even more intense than the first. Squirting out onto Matt’s length you swore you physically saw his eyes darken.

“Good girl— feeling so good and full, huh?” Theo spoke right against your ear, but judging by his groans he was close himself. Mattheo’s grip around your throat only tightened. “Such a good girl— gonna make me cum in this pretty cunt-“

You nodded your head, feeling Theo tugging on your nipples harder as they both seemed to fuck you harder. “Give me your cum— both of you— I want it— Fuck!- I want it inside of me— please!”

Crying out your beg, Theodore started pounding deeper inside of your hole, hearing a low growl emitting from his chest before Mattheo fucked your cunt like it was a damn need. His head shot back as he groaned loudly.

Feeling the both of them reach their own orgasm, their cocks throbbed within your walls with the sticky seed they both filled you up with. The three of you caught in haggard breaths.

You were about to speak, to say something. Anything. But you just simply relaxed against Theodore who wrapped his arms around you, his dick still balls deep in your ass while Mattheo pulled out of your cum filled cunt.

Theo leaned up to press a soft yet lingering kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t have believed you had done this but fuck- you weren’t upset about it in the least. Just as you found your words the speakers roared.

“Happy New Year to all of our guests! The lifts will be running here shortly!”

On the 12th day of Dickmas we get… Mattheo and Theodore destroying us🫦🎁

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

I can’t believe it’s the end of Dickmas! I hope all my smut sluts and naughty nymphs have enjoyed coming on this wild ride with me! Happy new years, I love you all bunches!💋

[usercelestial]

Forever Love

General Audiences | Words: 3,753 | TW: Sexual Harassment

-

Buck misses Tommy. He always misses Tommy. He misses him when he’s in the bathroom, when he’s at work, when he’s sat across the table and their feet aren’t touching. Buck is self-aware enough to know that he has a problem. But this time, it’s serious.

He’s drunk. And Tommy isn’t here.

And they’re fighting.

He’s just a little past tipsy in a gay bar where the music is too loud and the floor is too sticky but the rainbow flags in the window give him this fuzzy feeling in his chest. It’s nice, knowing he has a community, having a sense of belonging. Having something he didn’t know he was missing, being with people who are like him. It’s queerness and tacky rainbow tank tops and seeing color for the first time and breathing in and out without the weight of something missing sitting on his chest.

“Dude, this place is great!”

Oh, Eddie’s here too.

They started the night at Eddie’s house. Buck ran to Eddie the minute he slammed the front door of his and Tommy’s new house and jumped in his Jeep.

He doesn’t remember what the fight was about, not just because the alcohol was kind of making it hard to remember details, but because it was really about nothing in particular. Or maybe it was about everything. All the little things like Tommy leaving his shoes in the doorway and Buck forgetting to load the dishwasher. One bad shift, a few small jabs, and then suddenly they were screaming at each other. And then Buck ran.

They had moved in together three weeks ago. The first two weeks were bliss, but now a heavy storm cloud has settled over their home. Buck thinks about the honeymoon phase everyone was warning him about and he aches to go back to it. He remembers when he used to think Tommy had never done anything wrong and if he had, there were perfectly reasonable explanations for it. But now he’s seeing him in more varied colors than just rose-tinted ones. And he’s realizing Tommy is having the same revelation. They're more themselves, more adult, messier and complicated. And Buck’s terrified.

But he’s also pissed.

“Can you fucking believe he yelled at me for something so petty?” Buck had said, pacing around Eddie’s living room, “It’s like he wasn’t even listening to me.”

“Well, didn’t you also yell at him?”

“Who’s side are you on?”

A small, petty part of him was smug about getting to Eddie before Tommy did. The last few fights they had, Tommy had been the one to storm out and seek solace in the Diaz home. This time, Buck ran before Tommy had the chance. He had been happy to share his side of the story and Eddie was a kind enough friend to realize Buck needed to vent his very biased account of things, nodding along and giving support where it was needed.

Then came the beers. Then the bars. Then Buck spotted those rainbow flags in the window while stumbling along the sidewalk and told Eddie that if he was a good ally, he would follow him in and let him blow off some steam.

Except now, he’s kind of running out of steam. He misses his boyfriend and the guilt of raising his voice is starting to dampen his mood. He feels regret souring on his tongue and it’s diluting all the endorphins that were released from doing shots with Drag Queens earlier in the night.

Eddie’s still going strong though. His hair is kind of messy, glitter decorating his pink cheeks, a goofy smile plastered across his face. He lost the button up he started the night with so now he’s rocking a white tank top that shows off his arms nicely. Needless to say he’s getting a lot of attention- attention that he’s either ignoring or oblivious to.

“Dude, dude, why don’t we come here more often? Why do we go to the sad bar for straight people when we could come here instead? Everyone’s so nice!” Eddie is starting to shout in his ear a little bit.

“You can just come here on your own, you know,” Buck suggests.

Eddie shakes his head, “I don’t wanna… um-” he cuts off, snapping his fingers, “intrude! I don’t wanna intrude. Do you think if I ask Josh, he’d take me? He talks about feeling weird coming to bars alone all the time! OH!” Eddie gasps, like he’s had a great idea, “Should I text Josh? He could come down here, it’d be great!”

Eddie starts to take his phone out before Buck stops him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eds.”

Eddie waves him off before the song changes and suddenly he’s disappearing back into the crowd of swaying bodies. Buck should probably try to keep an eye on him but he’s busy silently mourning the quiet night in with his boyfriend he was going to have. Then he starts to mourn the night he wanted to spend distracting himself from his own grievances with said boyfriend, trying to drown out the voice telling him how badly he fucked things up. Now, he’s playing babysitter to giddy-drunk Eddie.

“Don’t you look lonely.” Suddenly there’s a body pushing against his side and alcohol-ridden breath wafting over his ear.

He reels back, cringing at the close proximity. He huffs and takes another sip of his beer.

“Oh, what, you’re gonna give me the cold shoulder?” The guy moves closer again. “Come on, what’s got you so down?”

He ignores him again, trying to turn his body away. The guy slides a hand against his side and fingers the hem of his shirt. Buck shoves him off.

“Fuck off,” Buck growls, and then for good measure, “I’ve got a boyfriend.” Who he misses. God, he wishes Tommy was here.

“Well, I don’t see him anywhere. Must not be a very good boyfriend, then.”

Buck starts to get defensive, opening his mouth to speak, before the words jumble in his throat. It’s a little hard to think coherently, but what comes to mind are images of Tommy making him dinner after a long shift, scrubbing his hands through his soapy hair in the shower, kissing his birthmark before bed every night. He’s not sure how to articulate it, all the feelings rising in his throat at the claim that Tommy isn’t a good boyfriend, a good partner, a good person.

“Buck! Buck, listen, man, you gotta try this drink- oh, who’s this?”

The guy scoffs as Eddie suddenly reappears from God knows where, “Really? This guy?” He points at Eddie.

Eddie looks behind him wildly, “Who?”

Buck thinks briefly about drowning himself in one of the bar toilets. Then decides he’d be getting out of this too easy, and this is probably karma for ruining the great thing he had going with Tommy.

“So you’re his boyfriend?” The guy is now directly talking to Eddie.

There are several looks that pass over Eddie’s face. He looks like he’s solving a puzzle for a second then there’s a little twinkle in his eye and then he straightens his back with determination and pride, “Yep!”

Buck chokes on his own spit, “What?”

“Hey, I’m Tommy, Buck- no, Evan’s boyfriend.” He looks immensely proud of himself, “So, bye. He’s taken. By me, Tommy, I’m a great pilot and subpar at Muay Thai. So leave us alone.”

The guy apparently has decided to double down on being an ass, though, “Really, you could do so much better.” He’s turned back to Buck now. “Why would you ever choose to be with a guy who can’t hold his beer and makes an idiot of himself in public?”

“He’s not an idiot!” Buck throws his hands in the air. He’s not sure if he’s defending Tommy or Eddie here, but they’re kind of blurring into one person right now.

“What do you have going for you anyways, bro? I’m a pilot!” Eddie decides to puff his chest out a little now, shoving his hands in his front pockets. Buck realizes he’s trying to mimic Tommy’s mannerisms, much to his own horror. Now is probably not a good time to mention that this guy doesn’t actually know what Tommy looks like, therefore he doesn’t actually need to pretend to be Tommy. But his heart clenches at how hard Eddie’s trying anyways. “A firefighter-pilot!” Eddie continues, “Those are like two of the hottest professions you can have. I also do Muay Thai, although not as good as my amazing friend, Eddie, but still very good.”

“Wow, self-obsessed much?” The guy tries to touch Buck’s arm, “Come on, don’t you wanna ditch him? Do you really think this guy is gonna give you what you need?”

“What do you know about what he needs? I’ll have you know that we live together, actually!” Eddie is starting to shout again, “It’s going great. Or well, it is, isn’t it?” He turns to Buck.

“What?”

“It is going great, right? Like we’re still happy, aren’t we?”

Buck thinks of Tommy at home right now, sitting on the sofa in his stupid, sexy reading glasses. He’s probably still fuming from the fight. Buck pictures him biting his nails, a habit he’s tried to kick. He whines a little in the back of his throat at the thought of being his point of stress. His bones ache to curl up in bed, head tucked into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling Tommy’s arm gently graze over his spine. He thinks about moving around the kitchen with him, seamlessly in tune with his every move. He thinks about coming up behind him and pulling Tommy back’s flush against his chest and kissing his hairline.

“Yeah, of course, we’re still happy.”

“Do you really have to ask?” The guy asks smugly, quirking an eyebrow.

Eddie’s still looking at him though, eyes searching, “I worry about that sometimes, you know? Like,” he breathes and makes a decision, “sometimes I’ll talk to our friend, Eddie. And I’ll tell him how much I love you, but how scared I am that I don’t make you happy enough. And it doesn’t matter how many times I-or Eddie tells me that you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, I’m scared you’re gonna wake up and realize there’s something else out there for you. At least, that’s what I tell Eddie. And I swore him to secrecy too, I made him promise not to mention that to you because I don't want you to think I’m a burden or anything. And because Eddie is such a good friend, he promised he wouldn’t say anything but I think now Eddie is getting tired of watching us both think the other one could do better. That’s how Eddie feels. Cause we’re both great, you know. Best friends he’s ever had.”

“Is that how uh- you really feel?” Buck asks, “You think I’m gonna find something better?”

Eddie nods, lips pursed, “Well, it's not like- I don't think you're gonna just walk out with some fuck-face you meet at a bar,” he gestures to the guy still standing there confused, “but I think I’m more worried you’re going to realize I’m not what you want. That it's too hard, I guess. And we've been fighting more and more recently and it's really getting to me, man.”

“I just feel like you keep shutting me out, though. It's not the little things that get to me, it's the fact that every time I try to talk to you about it, you just shut down.”

“Okay, I get that. But I think if I had to say why I do that, it's because I’m scared that if we really start to talk about it, you’ll come to the conclusion that you won't want to put up with me.”

“Tommy, I’m trying to build a life together, I’m in this, all the way. And don't you think I’m scared, too? It's like you’re not listening to what I’m telling you.”

“You talk about how you don't feel listened to, but it’s never really clear what you’re saying,” Eddie throws his hands up and clears his throat awkwardly, “I think.”

Buck stops to consider that. He’s tried to tell Tommy how he feels, how scared he is he’s gonna fuck it up. He still feels like he’s a guest in Tommy’s home, not because of anything Tommy’s done per say. He thinks maybe he’s still trying to walk on eggshells, not make too many waves. So he beats around the bush. He points out Tommy’s shoes in the doorway when he’s made a point to put his own in the closet, clearing his throat when he picks them up and puts them away. Tommy glances at him and hums, looking away.

It always made Buck feel like Tommy’s just tolerating him- putting up with his “clipboard” tendencies.

“Okay, I guess you have a point. I’m not actually that mad that you leave your shoes wherever you take them off, or how you leave dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, or that you always make the bed too tight. Like, I don't care about those things. I just- fuck, I don't know. It feels like it's still your house, and I’m still living out of a few drawers and an overnight bag.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, “Do I make you feel that way?”

Buck sighs, “Not on purpose, I don't think. I think it's just a lot of other bad experiences with living with people I’ve dated and yeah, maybe, it feels like you keep erasing the mark I’m trying to leave. I keep trying to get you to put your shoes in the closet, and you just won't.”

“I thought you said you weren't really mad about that.” Eddie seems like he’s having a hard time following their relationship lore.

“It's not that. It's more that all of the little things I’m trying to do to make it feel like ours, you’re just not having.”

“Have you ever told me that? Like in those words? Cause from where I’m standing, I think I’m just trying to give you your space and stay close to mine.”

“I don't just want my space and then your space, I want our space. I want to have things we do together, systems we can agree on. Not just because it annoys me when you don't follow my rules, Tommy. I don't want you to feel trapped with me.”

“Well, I don't want you to feel suffocated. That's what I told Eddie.”

Buck breathes in a small sob. He’s always been an emotional drunk.

“I love you, all of you. Even your messiness. I just want to feel like you're in this too. I’ve had a lot of shitty relationships where I'm the only one putting anything into it. And you’ve always felt different. Like I could actually get attached to you. And it feels like you're pulling back.” Buck sinks in on himself, heart breaking at the idea that Tommy’s falling farther away.

Eddie looks pained, but enlightened, “I think I’m pulling back because I don't want to pressure you. I think I’m really, really into you, dude. And it's scary to put so much of yourself on the line. I think I’m afraid I was putting too much of myself into this, and you're gonna get exhausted.”

“Exhausted with what?”

“With how much I love you. With how amazing I think you are. With how I think I’ve decided I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” Eddie finishes.

“Okay, what the fuck does all that mean?” The guy is still just standing beside them.

“Bro, go away.”

“Like why are you even still here?”

The guy walks away, muttering something about them being exhausting and a waste of his time.

“He’s said all to you?” Buck ducks his head, not wanting to look Eddie in the eye.

“Some of it, yeah,” Eddie nods, wrinkling his forehead, “The feeling like you're too much of a good thing, wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, generally feeling like shit whenever you fight, yeah, we talked about all that.” He hiccups, “Some of it I improvised. I know both of you pretty well by now, and I’m tired of constantly going back and forth between you whenever you fight. Especially when you're saying the same thing. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

Buck waits for him to elaborate. Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are committed. It's just that you're both being really, really stupid about it. And living with another person is hard, especially when you’re trying so hard to keep so much of yourself in. You’ve got to open up a little, man. And so does he, but I think the first thing you gotta do is talk.”

“Hm. I should probably go home.” His head is starting to hurt and he feels like throwing up or passing out or crying, and he doesn't want to do any of those things outside of the comfort of his own home.

His and Tommy’s own home.

Eddie's eyes light up again and Buck had the exact same thought at the exact same time, “Uber!”

Eddie falls dead asleep on the ride to Buck and Tommy’s house. When they arrive, Buck profusely apologizes to the Uber driver for all the snoring and retching.

Eddie leans against his shoulder as they walk up to the door. Buck notices a wreath that wasn't there before and remembers talking about decorating the house for the holidays early. Tommy hadn't been completely sold on the idea at the time but there it was, displayed on their front door. It felt like a peace offering in of itself.

He fumbled with his key and accidently locked the already unlocked door, which Eddie laughed at for the full minute it took him to realize and then unlock the door again.

“Shhh. He’s probably asleep.”

“Evan?”

“Oh shit.” Then Eddie falls on the floor somehow. Buck isn’t really paying attention to whatever Eddie’s issues with gravity are. The moment he sees Tommy standing in the hallway in his sleeveless red top and sweats, he bolts and throws his arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry.” Buck mumbles into his neck.

Tommy sighs and hugs back, “I know, baby. I’m sorry, too.”

Eddie stands back up, celebrates quietly to himself for a second, and then redirects his attention to Buck and Tommy, “Hey, Tommy.” He waves politely.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“I don’t wanna be Buck’s boyfriend anymore. You can have him back. You’re both so complicated. Josh wouldn’t be so complicated.” Eddie starts mumbling to himself, swaying back and forth on his feet while fiddling with the leaves on the plant they have in their entrance.

Tommy seems to take a second process of what he just said and is doing mental gymnastics to decipher it, “What?”

“There was this guy, right? And he was kind of an asshole about it. So I pretended to be you, so he would leave Buck alone.”

Buck feels Tommy’s chest rise with jealousy, “A guy was messing with you?” Buck is man enough to admit that the heat in his voice does something for him.

“Mostly just being annoying.” Buck shrugs, arms still tied around Tommy’s neck.

“Hey, don’t worry. I defended his honor.” Eddie pounds a fist to his chest and then stumbles over to the couch.

Tommy worms his way out of Buck’s grip so he can close and lock the door and then turns back, “So, we’re good, then?”

Buck smiles, shoulder’s rising to his ears, laughing a little. He’s back to feeling giddy, a rush of love flooding through his chest, “Yeah, we’re gonna be great, Tommy, I promise.”

Tommy smiles and gravitates back to him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his collar bone.

“No funny business while I’m still here.” Eddie turns over on his side, tugging the throw blanket off the back of the couch.

“We gotta talk, though.” Buck traces a finger down Tommy’s chin, parking it in the little divot that used to taunt him. He has a cleft, Buck giggles again.

“About what?” Tommy goes still. His arm freezes up and the soft, gooey feeling in Buck’s chest gets a little chillier.

“I know about your annoying habits and you know about mine. We need to talk about ‘em to move past ‘em”

“And what if when we talk about it, we can’t find a way to move past it.” Tommy says quietly. For a second, Buck feels like he’s looking at himself. The facade of confidence cracks and suddenly there’s a lonely boy in a cold, empty house that starts to leak through. Buck’s chest hurts thinking about little Tommy. He was lonely and afraid. Buck remembers that feeling like a ghost whispering up his spine and he hates it. He hates that he ever thought this wasn’t something he could have. He hates that Tommy thought he’d be lonely and afraid forever. He hates that they both did.

He hates that Tommy feels like that right, standing in their home, in each other’s arms, where it should be safe from old wounds and lingering ghosts.

“Hey,” Buck’s finger on Tommy’s chin tightens and he brings his thumb up to force eye contact, “Don’t do that, please.”

Tommy shudders.

“Tommy, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you and you,” Buck grabs Tommy’s face with both hands, “Tommy, you are my forever love, okay? Your bad habits are not going to get in the way of that. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

“Forever love, huh?” Tommy muses.

“If you let me, I wanna be your forever,” Buck places his index finger on Tommy’s lip, swiping. He wants

[gunilslaugh]

Vanilla Latte

Kim Jungsu Summary:Jungsu works as a barista at the coffee shop you frequent. The two of you haven’t spoken that much, you just know that he’s the one who tops your vanilla latte with a heart. (non idol au) WC:~1.6k Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

The very familiar bell chimes as you open the door to your favorite coffee shop. The warm and comforting aroma of coffee filled your senses.

“Vanilla latte?” Jiseok, a barista, asked you with a bright smile from where he was currently wiping down a table. You nodded your head in confirmation along with giving him a small smile. “Coming right up,” he told you. You head over to your usual table and make yourself comfortable. 

Soon enough the sweet scent of your vanilla latte fills your nose. The gently clink sound of the cup meeting the table pinged in your ears and your eyes take notice of the delicate heart floating on top of your drink. 

“Oh,” you let out a small sound recognizing the heart. That heart only meant one thing. “Jungsu,” you say, shifting your gaze from your latte in front of you to the barista standing right beside you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled delicately at you. His smile is as delicate as the heart on your coffee. “Enjoy,” he tells you, motioning to your drink. 

“I will, thank you.” Jungsu gives you a small nod then proceeds to make his way back over to the counter. Your eyes watch him as he disappears into the room behind the counter. You turn back to your vanilla latte, having a small smile etched onto your face. You carefully pick up the warm cup, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip, letting the sweet liquid dance across your tastebuds. Carefully, you set the cup back down onto the table. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why does y/n get a heart and not us?” your friend asked, after peering at the three cups sitting directly in front of each of you. 

“What?” you questioned confused, leaning to look at either of your friends drinks. It was true they didn’t have a foam heart sitting on top, but tulips. “Hmm,” you hum. 

“It’s fine I think the tulip is prettier than the heart,” your other friend states. 

“But I think a heart is more special,” your friend said. 

“Well then there’s your answer. The barista has a crush on y/n,” your friend playfully teased. 

“I’d believe it,” Seungmin, another barista of the shop, suddenly intruded. “Jungsu only tops y/n’s vanilla latte with a heart.” 

That’s how you found out that Jungsu was the one responsible for decorating your vanilla latte with a heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never asked Jungsu why he topped your lattes with a heart. Though you can’t deny a spark of happiness lit up inside of you anytime you saw the white heart decorating your drink. Even if a heart is one of the simple latte arts, your friend was right it did feel special. Maybe that’s just because Jungsu is the one who makes it for you though. 

Truthfully you didn’t know much about Jungsu. If you really compact it down you suppose you mainly know two things about him. One, he works at your favorite coffee shop. Two, he always tops your vanilla lattes with hearts. If you elaborate, maybe you know quite a few things about him. You think he likes having his hair dyed blonde. He’s tried every shade of it from platinum to dirty. He always has to check three times that he pushed the lever all the way on the coffee machine. (There was a horrible incident one time that left the floor covered in sticky coffee.) He refuses to put the muffins by the bagels in the display window. He is always nervous when he has to carry multiple drinks over to a table using a tray. You’ve heard a rumor from the other baristas that he’s quite talented with a keyboard and that he has an angelic singing voice. He likes cats. You’ve seen him feed some strays in the side alleyway. Giving them gentle pets on their heads as they drink the milk he poured into a small bowl for them. 

Mayhaps you knew quite a lot about Jungsu.

There was one thing you didn’t know about Jungsu though or didn’t remember rather. The first time you met him wasn’t at the coffee shop. No, it was several years ago. An extremely rainy day. With teardrop after teardrop racing down to the ground. Jungsu was not having a good day. He sat on the edge of a curb soaked in rain. He was freezing, but at least the falling rain covered the tears that fell from his eyes.

That was until the raindrops stopped pelting him. Jungsu looked up to see an umbrella covering him.

“You shouldn’t sit in the rain, you'll get sick,” you tell him. 

“Oh umm..I know I-” Jungsu stammers out, awkwardly standing up. You readjust the umbrella to make sure that it covers him. 

“Here, you can have it.” You hand the umbrella over to him. 

“No, what about you?” Jungsu denied taking the umbrella. 

“It’s ok. I’m with my friends over at that coffee shop,” You pointed across the street to the coffee shop. “I don’t need it. You can have it.” Again you hand the umbrella over to him. This time he carefully takes it. 

“Thanks,” he says.

“And…” You drift off as you stop to dig in your coat pocket. “Here.” You pull out a heart shaped chocolate. Jungsu stared at the heart shaped chocolate in the palm of your hand. After a few moments his fingers delicately pick up the chocolate, fingers gently brushing against your palm. “There you should feel better now. I just gave my heart to you,” you lightly flirted. Jungsu laughs at your unexpected words.

“Thanks,” he says with the tips of his ears turning red. 

“I know life gets hard and we can’t feel happy everyday, but there are little things to smile about everyday.” You point to the little heart in his hand. “I hope you feel better. I’ll get going now.” 

“Thanks again,” Jungsu thanks you. You nod before walking out from under the umbrella, using your hands to shield you from the falling rain and hurry back over to the coffee shop.

Jungsu watches you disappear into the shop. He looks at the umbrella shielding him from the rain then looks down at the heart chocolate in his hand. You ran out of the warm coffee shop into the cold rain just to give a guy you don’t even know an umbrella and cheer him up too. Jungsu looks back over to the coffee shop. Maybe he’s the one who gave you his heart. 

Safe to say when Jungsu saw that that very coffee shop was hiring a few days later he didn’t even think twice before applying. 

Jungsu can’t blame you for not recognizing him. He knows he looked like a complete mess that day. He just hoped that one day maybe you would recognize him as he gave his heart to you with every vanilla latte you ordered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks,” you smiled at Jungsu as he placed your vanilla latte in front of you.

“Of course, enjoy,” he told you. You take a moment to stare at the delicate foam heart on your latte before your eyes turn to look back at Jungsu at the counter. That same smile on your face as you go take a drink of your latte. 

The quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop is suddenly greeted by the sound of drizzling rain. At first you found that the gentle sound of the rain added to the coziness of the shop. That was until you realized that you don’t have an umbrella.

“Crap” you whisper under your breath. You started to debate just waiting out the rain, but suddenly Jungsu was by your side again. 

“Here,” he said, holding out an umbrella. An umbrella that you recognized. 

“Hey I used to have an umbrella just like this,” you stated grabbing the umbrella.”I gave it to this guy a few years ago though. He was out in the rain without an umbrella,” you explained. 

“I know…he was out crying in the rain. You ran out of the coffee shop to give him your umbrella and chocolate heart,” Jungsu said. 

“How did you-” Your words cut short as you look at Jungsu, really look at him. You look back to the umbrella in your hand. It was your umbrella. The one that you gave to the guy those years ago. 

“You gave me your heart that day,” Jungsu says, proving to you that he indeedly is that guy who was crying out in the rain. You look over to your now nearly empty latte cup. The heart is long gone, but now it made sense. Why Jungsu always topped your vanilla lattes with a heart. “And I’ve been giving you mine with every vanilla latte I made you,” he confesses. 

“I feel stupid now,” you laugh. “How could I not recognize you?”

“It’s ok, I definitely wasn’t looking my best that day,” he joked. 

“Still I should recognize the guy I gave my heart to,” you say playfully. The tips of Jungsu’s ears go red just like the day you first said that to him.

“Well now that you know…can I take you out on a date?” he asked shyly. 

“I would like that” you agree. 

“Finally!” Jiseok shouts from behind the counter. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep my mouth shut about those vanilla latte hearts,” he says sinking onto the counter. 

“I know! I thought all those months ago when I spilled to y/n and their friends that Jungsu only topped y/n’s lattes with hearts that something would happen, but no I was only able to continue to watch as Jungsu kept making those lovesick hearts,” Seungmin chimed it. Jungsu’s cheeks blush as he tells the guys to be quiet. 

Now you know that the delicate heart that decorated your vanilla lattes felt special because Jungsu made it with love.

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin

comment or message me to be added!

[delta-pavonis]

@alexxuun I have a start...

“Jayce, my boy. Please, sit down!” Heimerdinger motions to the chair opposite his desk as he hops up the steps to sit on his own chair, boosted significantly so that he can talk to humanoids sitting across from him eye-to-eye. His poro chirrups and skitters around Jayce's feet excitedly.

Jayce reaches down and pets the creature as he sits. “Of course. You asked to see me, Professor?” 

“Yes, yes. It is about the most recent test. Yo-”

“You flunked it,” comes an annoyed, accented voice from Jayce's right and he nearly jumps out of his skin from the shock of it.

There is a small couch at the far end of the room, which is mostly in shadow given the angle of the late afternoon sun coming in through the window. And on it lounges the very reason Jayce has seen his grades in the class drop precipitously…

“Viktor!” Heimerdinger scolds affectionately, minorly affronted at the brusque approach of his graduate assistant. “No need to-”

“Yes. Need to,” Viktor interrupts their professor again, grabbing the test from the edge of Heimerdinger’s desk and shaking it as he limps over to Jayce without his cane. “Your score on this test is not consistent with the quality of your work from the first half of the course. And you have been working extra with the study group–I have been there to see it! So the only conclusion I can come to is that you are no longer taking this seriously and–”

“Enough!” Heimerdinger doesn't exactly yell, but his voice slices through the air between his two students as deftly as any blade. “What Viktor is trying to convey,” and here the yordle gives his assistant a glare that could peel paint off walls, which actually makes the grad student blush and look a little sheepish, “is that we’re worried about you, Jayce.”

Jayce looks from his professor to Viktor and back. We?

Further, he is acutely aware of how close his and Viktor's legs are to touching now that the TA is propping himself up on the edge of the desk. Jayce looks down and sighs. “Yeah, I know. I have…” 

spent all my brain power thinking homoerotic thoughts about the professor's assistant who has decided to attend almost all of the past month of classes 

“...been…”

been too busy concentrating on hiding my feral attraction to the genius grad student helping me fumble through my work to remember anything I am learning

“...distracted. As of late.”

Viktor crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Jayce, unconvinced. “Well un-distract yourself. Quickly. This is content essential to your fields of interest…” wait, he knows what I am interested in? “...and you are too brilliant of an engineer t-”

Jayce's head snaps up and he boggles at Viktor, jaw hanging open and eyes no doubt as wide as saucers. Brilliant?

A painfully attractive blush blooms on Viktor's stark cheekbones as his mouth clicks shut. There is a moment of silence where it is just them, eyes locked together, and Jayce swears that Viktor's pupils dilate. 

Then Heimerdinger blunders on, unaware of the crisis happening right in front of him. “Quite right! You are far too promising to have you not pass this class. It would prevent you from skipping ahead and entering the graduate seminar next semester and really digging into your research. I remember when I…”

The professor’s voice fades to a background drone as they maintain eye contact. Jayce picks his jaw back up off the ground and closes his mouth, licking his lips when he does, and fuck he is pretty sure Viktor looked down to track the motion. 

Jayce is totally fucked up over Viktor. Daydreaming about wildly inappropriate things Viktor could do to him with those elegant fingers all through class kind of fucked up. Can barely make it through one of the assistant’s extra recitations without coming in his pants, forget not getting hard as hell, kind of fucked up. Drop to his knees right now and press his face into Viktor's groin and plead to be allowed to suck his cock kind of fucked up. Go down on all fours and serve as a place to rest Viktor's bad leg kind of fucked up. ‘Would you like to be called Sir or Master?’ kind of fucked up. 

Some of that insanity must show on Jayce's face because he unfolds his arms to grip the edge of the desk and uncrosses his ankles so he can stand with his knees further apart. Jayce traces down Viktor's body with his eyes, lingering on what might be the start of a bulge beneath his trousers oh god.

“...right, Viktor?” Viktor startles and looks back to his mentor. “You thought Jayce should start individualized tutoring immediately, yes? I am sure one of the other students in our lab could-”

“No, I’ll do it,” Viktor says, quick and, if Jayce didn't know any better, eager. That thought makes Jayce feel like he might burst into flames. “I can't continue working until we get the next samples of stone from Demacia, which won't be for another two weeks.”

“Oh! Well that works out perfectly then!” The bells from the Academy tower choose that moment to chime the hour. “Ohhh, fargle and bargle, I’m late!” Heimerdinger takes the steps to the floor two at a time and starts shuffling out the door. “I’ll just leave you two to make arrangements then. Good luck!” His poro yips and yaps happily as it follows behind him.

Jayce looks at the door until the sounds of the professor and his pet fade. Then he takes a deep breath and turns back to Viktor.

Viktor, whose gaze has darkened and who is looking at Jayce with an undeniable hunger. “So,” his smirk curls into something wicked, “what might we do to help you overcome this distraction that has plagued you in the lecture hall?” He slides along the edge of the desk until their calves are touching, running his good leg along Jayce's from knee to ankle. “Do you actually need remedial lessons? Or do you just need the opportunity to take your assessment without me in the room?”

Nothing could have prepared Jayce for Viktor being so forward. He isn't sad about it, to be clear; it cuts through a lot of bullshit and for that Jayce is grateful. It is refreshing. “Honestly?” Jayce looks up to the other man and softens his expression, risking that it might come off as too goofily adoring. “I can't think straight when we're in the same room.”

Viktor's head tilts to the side and his eyes glitter like prisms in sunlight. He is gorgeous. “I certainly hope your thoughts about me aren’t straight.”

That breaks the last of the tension in the room and Jayce laughs, running a hand over his face to try to wipe away the giddiness he feels from knowing his interest is reciprocated. He is delighted by this playful side of Viktor, something he has only seen before in small flashes. “No, they definitely are not.” They smile at each other and the mutual attraction simmers between them, alive and electric. “Come on,” Jayce tilts his head towards the door as he stands. “I haven’t had lunch yet. And you apparently don’t have any research to do for a few weeks. Come with me to get a bite to eat? Or a coffee?” 

“Alright. Let me just-” Jayce is across the room in three strides, grabbing Viktor’s cane and handing it to him. Of all things, this makes Viktor really blush. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“You’re welcome.” Jayce stuffs his hands in his pockets before he does something stupid like reach out to lace Viktor’s fingers with his own. “I was thinking the cafe down by Kingswood and Copper Lane… it’s not too far.”

Jayvik Academy au where jayce is taking Heimerdinger’s class and a certain assistant start attending to help out the student, sometimes even taking over to teach classes for the professor. Jayce… can’t focus in class for some reason and ended up needing to ask for help after class… from the man who distracted him in the first place.

[frillydolle]

Hiiii! This is my first time requesting ever, I really love your writing and was wondering if you’d be interested in a fic where Arthur Morgan and this high-class lady love each other but due to their reputations can’t ever meet in public. So Arthur has to sneak into her bedroom or vice versa??

Maybe she ends up abandoning her high class life for him?? It’s up to you!

Sorry if this is confusing and please don’t feel the need to respond, I’m sure you have so much other work to do. thank you so much!

arthur morgan x rich female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ sooo ur like mary linton , slightly aka very suggestive near end

he was an outlaw from the west. and u were a high society lady living in the big city saint denis. it could never work... a lady couldn't live and love with a cowboy, could she?

with the magic of letter sending and meeting up during the night, the two of u always enjoyed your time together. he'd give some flowers or a necklace (that he totally didn't steal) to u, as action spoke louder than words. arthur wanted nothing more than to make sure that u knew he absolutely adored u. even if the small voice at the back of his kind tells me that he shouldn't be pursuing this.

he's practically letting u be in the hands of danger. he's an outlaw, anything could happen. he could be jailed.. or even worse- which u didn't dare to think about. or just what if something does happen and he goes cold? he just hates the idea of upsetting u in any way. it was something he couldn't handle.

you were in the comforts in ur bed, reading some fantasy novel u got from the bookstore a couple of days ago. even if your mother suggests that a lady shouldn't waste her time on such things, u didn't care. books were like your brain, a sort of escapism from your strict, wealthy life. since you would do anything to leave this heavy life of urs. and that's when u heard some footsteps..

and this caused me to look to ur right, watching the window fiddle and shake for a little bit. u adjusted urself as u sat up, putting ur book down beside u. and soon, seeing a thick arm come through before his leg goes through, and oh, u recognise that gun belt from anywhere.

“...arthur? i didn't think i'd see you again, the papers-” “oh, i have my ways, sweetheart.” he says as he pulls himself through your window, staying aware of his surroundings as not to bump into anything that will cause your parents to walk in. and how glad u were to see him! a sight of relief left ur lips before u stood up, leaning up to give him a kiss on his cheek.

“i missed you, arthur.. how is everything?” u ask him as u sit back down on ur bed, and he follows ur action, sitting next to do as u felt his callous hand reach for urs. and soon, ur fingers intertwine with his, a small subtle of intimacy. eveeytime he let himself into ur room, those same feelings that bubbled up inside from the first time u met him. ur eyes would be in such adoration for the man, like he was a forbidden fruit, a desire that wasn't good morals.

“'m better now that 'm with ya.” he says before he leans into u, his lips soon landing on urs as a giggle as u felt his hand provocatively slide up ur thigh. “dutch wants to rob the bank here.. but i ain't sure of it.” he murmurs before he moves down, lightly kisses your neck as he feels ur arms snake around his neck.

“... your life is always more exciting than mine.” u reply softly, trying ur damn best to stay so as not to make a sound in fear of ur parents hearing either u or arthur. and by ur words, he leaned up slightly to look at u, his head tilted slightly. “if yer thinkin' what 'm thinkin' then it ain't happenin'...” he replied before going down to ur neck once more and then to ur collarbone. it was like he was trying to distract u, that damn-

“i'd rather leave in the middle of the night to come see ya, knowin' that nothing ain't happened t'ya.” he hummed softly before he bit down ur collarbone, and that left a pretty mark on ur skin. it always made u giggly, knowing that he was often careful like that to make sure that no one didn't see anything. i mean, he was always so observant, until now.

until the two of u heard the sounds of ur parents' footsteps making way to ur room.

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 12

Kay, I think Big Kitty might need a break. Besides, there's another prince that needs some attention.

Premise: The Briar Prince takes his spouse to an interesting festival, acting odd

Words: 2,023

Music Inspirations: Let Me Be Sad - I Prevail

~~~Grieving Period~~~

               Wind filters through the open window. Sunlight rains down on my skin. Serene in the warmth, I see his face. Those perfectly cute ears nestled in his shining hair flicker—I just want to reach out and pinch them. Green eyes blink behind those dark lashes, glittering like gems. His smile is gentle, so full of genuine love. As his head tilts, showing me that adoration, I feel the shudder in my chest.

               “There you are.”

               Eyes snap open. Rather than the lion prince, before me lies an open window with the briar garden far below. A hand lifts to brush away the drop that managed to escape before I face my husband.

               With practiced control, my tone remains even. “My apologies, were you looking for me?”

               I can only wonder what thoughts flicker behind the scrutiny he searches me with. If the pursing of his lips is any indication, it may not be in my favor.

               It’s by his purest grace that my infidelity hasn’t been exposed. I was, however, thoroughly questioned and had all my belongings searched—for which I can’t blame him. Since our wedding, those chains binding me to the future fae king have been tightened and almost always there’s a guard at my side, watching. My privacy comes only in rare moments in the bathroom. Even my magestone was confiscated to prevent any portal magic. In every way, I’ve become his, just as Leona’s words accused.

               He speaks concisely. “I plan on venturing into the city. Would you care to join me?”

               I’ve never been asked to join him on a social outing before—not unless it required the illusion of a blissful couple.

               Before I can answer, he adds, “You’re welcome to refuse if you’d prefer.”

               That’s not how this relationship works. “I would be honored.”

               “Very well. Can you be ready shortly?”

               “If you give me ten minutes.”

               He agrees to that concession and leaves me to prepare for our trip among the citizenry. Most of that ten minutes actually consist of me trying to clear my head of far-away fantasies, yet I do make myself presentable and meet my husband downstairs in the foyer along with his usual retinue of Sebek and Silver.

               Silver, ever polite, bows his head. “Your highness.”

               Sebek simply mimics the gesture, but not the greeting.

               “Are you ready?” the prince asks.

               “I am. Where is it we venture to today?”

               His hand waves our path to the castle entrance. “There’s a small festival in the city today. I’m told the theme is peaches.”

               His lead I follow. “A festival of peaches?”

               “It’s a small event usually held in another village, but some few citizens have chosen to celebrate here this year.”

               “Why peaches?”

               “I’ve heard that it’s something about a large fruit that carried a child away from a terrible family and into the care of a wonderful new one. I would assume it’s a peach based on the celebration.”

               My bows furrow. “How…interesting.”

               “I thought so too.”

               My husband was indeed correct in that only a few people would be celebrating this event; however, within our large city, the event had garnished the attention of a still sizeable number.

               Immediately, the smell of baked goods floats through the air, most prominently, peaches. A small amphitheater for various events has been occupied with the surrounding streets sectioned off for guests to wander to and fro among the various stalls. Most are filled with peaches served in various manners which I admit look tempting to taste. Others have some curious manner of festival souvenirs that I intend to investigate later. For now though, front and center of the theater sits a short stand which boasts possibly the largest fruit I’ve ever seen—at least up to my husband’s shoulder.

               “That thing’s huge,” Silver comments.

               I nod. “Surely it’s not real.”

               An attendant turns to us, full of enthusiasm. Unfortunately, some of that excitement dials back at the sight of the future king, but he still attempts to convey the thrill.

               “Oh this is most certainly a real peach. It’s not quite as large as the one in Chernabog Hollow, but it was specially grown for the festival.”

               Sebek, not so impressed, folds his arms. “Specially grown? How?”

               A finger taps his lips. “By our expert botanist mages.”

               “It’s a trade secret, Sebek,” the heir says. A wry smile pulls at his lips. “Though I’m sure it would be child’s play to discern.”

               This flusters the man.

               “And they say a giant peach whisked away a child from his horrible home?” I ask, only a tint of jealousy in the back of my mind.

               “Oh yes! But that one was as big as a house and flew with the aid of birds and a bit of magic of course.”

               I point to the variety of creepy crawlies decorating the stand. “And what, may I ask, are those for?”

               “The boy’s companions! The magic granted the boy, not only his vessel to freedom, but also the new family that would cherish him always.”

               Again, Sebek’s cynical. “He was raised by bugs?”

               “These were no mere insects. They too grew to extraordinary sizes and gained incredible intelligence for insects.”

               While I’m thoroughly skeptical of the tale, it’s certainly interesting.

               “What will you do with the peach after the festival?” Silver asks.

               “Actually, we’ll start carving into it shortly. Rather than waste any food, we’ll be making peach cobbler.” He waves to the set up commencing off to the side. “We would be honored for you to return for a slice once we’ve begun dishing plates out.”

               I differ that decision to my husband, who gives it little thought. “Time permitted, we may take you up on that offer.”

               “Of course, your Majesty,” he bows deeply. “Until then, please enjoy the festival.”

               The fae lightly tilts his head in acknowledgement before ushering me along. We trail our way through the festival, admiring the trinkets, attractions, and food on display. Yet further ahead, something else catches my eyes—something unrelated to the event. There’s a couple, arm in arm, happily ambling the stalls. A secret whispers between them, eliciting laughter that infects them both. That look of endearment between them is meant solely for each other, but that soft, sweet kiss stokes the envy.

               “Would you like a taste?”

               His question shocks me from my lament. At my side, my husband offers the treat in his hand. It almost seems silly to see the heir holding an ice cream cone, but he often did enjoy the dessert. Still, despite the gesture, his expression is rather empty.

               “Okay.”

               Before I can reach for the offering, his arm extends further. Apprehension snags in my throat, but the hesitation is only miniscule as I lean forward to taste. All effort focuses on the peach flavor of the cream and not the last time someone shared their dessert with me.

               Carefully composed, I look back at him. “It’s good. I didn’t know they made peach ice cream.”

               “It’s not a common flavor, but it’s intriguing. Shall I get another?”

               I’d rather not share another taste. “Yes please.”

               With my own ice cream to occupy me, we continue our tour. Throughout the day, we’ve spent maybe three hours interested in this little festival. However, it comes to an end as Sebek reminds his liege of a meeting he’s meant to attend soon. At that, we agree to return to the castle.

               “What did you think of our adventure today?” my partner asks as we cross the road away from the event.

               “It was nice. I never would’ve guessed there was a festival out there dedicated to a large fruit.”

               “Yes, it was quite peculiar,” he agrees. “But did you enjoy yourself?”

               My thoughts skip; he’s never concerned himself with my wellbeing before.

               “Ah, careful!”

               A hand slips beneath my arm, pulling me away from the road and right into his chest. Behind me zooms a carriage that misses only narrowly. As the driver pulls to a halt, asking if we’re okay, Sebek storms off in a rage, Silver close behind to mitigate the situation.

               That leaves me here alone, in the arms of my husband.

               Peering up, I can’t make sense of that expression. Again, he’s looking for something but with what appears to be little success. Yet without his answers, the prince bows his head.

               The moment our lips connect, apprehension ripples through me. Disgust in myself quickly floods after, knowing that there is no love here. But rather than shrink away, I grant every demand he makes.

               On two hands I could probably count the number of times I’ve shared a kiss with this man despite our lifetime of affiance. Each and every one of them had been short and to the point, meant as performances for various audiences. This one, however, is different. There is no audience and he’s searching for something I know not. Perhaps he’s testing my loyalty, expecting me to push him away. Or maybe he’s finding openings which require guarding, that I may never stray again. Whatever it is, the dragon delves deeper.

               His hand behind my head deepens the kiss, the other pulling me flush against him. Following that lead, I grip at the front of his coat and lean against his sturdy frame.

               A flash of that loving lion stabs my heart. Fists clench tight through the pain, praying that the agony remains absent from my lips.

               Finally, the kiss breaks, his cool lips grazing mine a moment longer before he fully retreats. Again, there’s a search that proves unfruitful. I’ve never seen him so contemplative in regards to me.

               I ask, against my better judgement, “What’s wrong?”

               Whatever conclusion he’s drawn he comes to terms with. “It’s nothing. If you’re unharmed, shall we return to the castle?”

               “Of course.”

               He gives a single nod; however, the extension of his hand is a surprise. There will be no refusal on my part though. It’s a strange feeling, our hands clasped together, like being tethered to be escorted home. Not much conversation floats between us, the awkward air too stale to break. It’s quite the relief to return to the castle where we part to see to other tasks.

               Those tasks aren’t enough of a distraction. The fae had some sort of intention behind inviting me out but I can’t put my finger on it. I could say that it was his attempt to endear his people with our public display of affection, but not many were around to even see and that only occurred due to a near accident. I don’t know what he wants from me and that cultivates unease.

               When the day comes to an end, I prepare for the night and so too does my husband. Silence blares between us, made prominent by the day’s events. I think he may still be contemplating whatever’s been on his mind.

               The heir sits on the edge of the bed as I draw the blanket higher. All is still for a moment before he joins me beneath the covers. My insides seize as an arm slips across my waist, dragging me across the mattress until my back meets his chest. It takes a second or two before I relax in his grasp, but my mind swirls with confusion and pain. Even he doesn’t seem all that comfortable, his grip slightly too tight.

               All I can imagine is that I could be doing this in someone else’s bed, equally eager to return the embrace. Instead, I’m thankful that my back is to him, teeth gnashing together to keep the sorrow in. Tears, on the other hand, I have no means to keep at bay.

               Eventually, sleep takes my turbulent conscience under.

~~~~~

               Cold light glows across my face, rousing my hazy thoughts. Curled tightly, I stretch my aching limbs until I finally manage to sit up. As I rise, I note the abundant space on my half of the bed. A tilt of my head shows me the other side where the dragon soundly sleeps, his back to me.

               I guess such gestures were simply too much for either of us.

~~~~~

Part 13 (Coming Soon)

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[maboroshi-no]

Hamefura Anime Blu-ray S2 Vol 1 SS

Series: My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom! Source: Anime BluRay S2 Vol 1 Special Booklet Title / Character: Raphael Author: Satoru Yamaguchi Synopsis: Raphael has started his new life at the Ministry of Magic. Translation: maboroshi-no

Ever since that day when I, Raphael Wolt, was forcibly made to become Sirius Dieke, whenever I slept, I would dream about those horrible events over and over again, making sleeping an ordeal. That's why I cut down my sleeping time and did all I could for vengeance. My sleep was always reduced to the minimum but it was still far better than having those nightmares. I went on living like this for many years. But ever since that day when I took her hand and the black man vanished, my nightmares had completely disappeared. My dreams had become warm and peaceful.

Today too, I didn't remember its content but I had a warm and nostalgic dream, and woke up with a pleasant feeling. I was in a very good mood. I got up from the furnished bed, walked to the window, and opened its door. A pleasant breeze blew in.

After the incident, I told everything to the government officials, then the Ministry of Magic took me into custody and I began working there. As someone who wouldn't find it so strange to be put in prison, I was disappointed by the soft treatment. Moreover, while I was initially kept at a distance by the higher-ups aware of my circumstances, once I was at work, everyone interacted with me normally since my circumstances were kept secret. Because of this, I was currently leading a surprisingly normal… No, considering my life when I was forced to be Sirius, an incredibly happy life.

My room in the Ministry's dorm was incomparably small compared to the one I was given as a marquis's son, but it was so comfortable. And the meals too. Before, no matter what expensive food I was fed, it tasted like dust and I couldn't tell their flavor, but ever since coming here, my meals had been surprisingly delicious. It was as if the the world had changed colors — no, as if they had returned. I had escaped the dark world I was trapped in for a long time. This was how I felt.

I let the pleasant wind enter my room and prepared my outfit. I had grown used to wearing the Ministry uniform.

Once I was ready, I exited my room and headed to the dorm's dining hall. After receiving a tray holding a warm meal, I looked around, wondering where I should sit. At that moment, a senpai from the same department called out to me.

Senpai: Oh, Raphael. This one's empty. Come on, let's eat together.

Since I was invited with a smile and had no reason to refuse, I sat in the opposite seat, as they suggested.

Raphael: Good morning.

Senpai: Good morning.

Senpai returned my greeting with a smile. During our meal, we had idle chatter about the Ministry.

It was my new everyday life.

Senpai: By the way, Raphael. Since you're so charming, voices seem to be rising among the female staff that you're pretty good-looking.

After the idle chatter, Senpai brought up that topic with a mischievous face.

Raphael: I'm happy to hear that.

When I replied this, Senpai made a disappointed face and…

Senpai: You sound used to it, how boring. It's like being popular is just business as usual for you.

…they said while pouting.

Raphael: That's not true.

Or so I said, but it was true that I was used to being the target of women's affection. When I was impersonating Sirius, even though I was a marquis's son, I didn't take a fiancée even when I came of age due to the influence of my overly clinging mother. Because of this, I received many advances from women attracted to my status as the son of an eminent marquis. Even so, they were aimed at Sirius and not Raphael, so having people attracted to me even after I had reverted to the nobody Raphael…

Raphael: It sincerely makes me happy.

When I said this,

Senpai: Hmm~ So you're happy to have people attracted to you, huh?

Senpai poutingly said this, then stared at me.

Senpai: But your heart has already settled on someone, so you can't accept their feelings, right?

They said this while tilting their head to the side. Shaken by their words, I couldn't properly swallow my food and inadvertently choked on it.

Raphael: *cough* *cough*

Senpai: Oh, so I've hit the nail on the head. It's unusual to see you so shaken.

Senpai looked like they were enjoying this. I glared at them just a little, then…

Raphael: …What made you think that?、

When I asked, Senpai grinned, and…

Senpai: Pure intuition. I've always had a keen one about those things.

They proudly answered this. Then,

Senpai: And so, who is that person who stole your heart? Are you going out or something?

They asked this with eyes full of curiosity.

Senpai was someone in the same department who treated me well, and a good person who freely spoke to me and cared about me. But my background was kept secret from everyone except the higher-ups, so I couldn't just talk about it. Even so, I didn't want to lie to this person.

Raphael: …I indeed have someone in my heart. But I can't possibly marry her and I personally don't feel the desire to, so I just want to help however I can to protect her smile.

I still wasn't used to speaking of my true feelings like this and my words were quite embarrassing, so I muttered them in one go while looking downward. But no response was coming. When I raised my head, Senpai was shedding black tears.

Raphael: Huh? Umm, are you okay?

Senpai: …That's my line, Raphael~ You've been in such a heartbreaking love, and yet I thought you were some youngster who never made blunders. For me, that kind of tragic love is the worst!

Senpai said this with their mascara running, making them shed black tears. From the look of it, my story seemed to have touched their heartstrings.

Raphael: Umm, I'm not having such a hard time.

I was actually happy. Since I had joined the Ministry of Magic, I could be on the same site as her. But I couldn't go into details about that, which was troublesome.

For the time being, I held out a handkerchief to Senpai. They used it to wipe their tears.

Senpai: Ugh! My make-up is running.

They stopped their tears after realizing their make-up was running. Then, they immediately got up from their seat and said "I need to return to my room to fix my make-up!". Upon leaving, they told me with a pained face, "If I can help you with anything, just tell me, okay?" But I honestly didn't find my current situation as painful as Senpai seemed to think. I might not be able to marry the first person I fell in love with but I could still stay near her. I was in a place where I could see her smile and help protect her. It really was happiness to me.

After remembering this, I really wanted to see her smile again. I still had a little time before work started. I quickly ate the rest of my meal and hurriedly headed to that place.

In a corner of these large grounds containing the Ministry of Magic and the Academy of Magic, a student from the academy was supposedly cultivating flower beds. But in reality, she was cultivating vegetable plots as a hobby.

She hardly was a morning person so there was mostly no chance of her being here at this hour, but I would still be able to sense her presence if I came to this place.

When I snuck a look there, it appeared I really was in luck today. I could see her figure happily tending to the fields.

While I was captivated by her expression, she seemed to notice my presence and turned her eyes to me. As I instantly froze because I didn't expect it, Katarina Claes said,

Katarina: Good morning, Raphael!

…showing me the smile I loved so much.

[kinokoshoujoart]

the coolest kids in forgotten valley!!☆

(…it seems there may have been a stretch of time where rock and lumina were the only kids in forgotten valley…🥲)

poseref

[desaulnierss]

Adding onto this, I personally ran Salamander Dagger head on Acidic Crystal Spear handle for some poking (the City Longspear has a longer reach but is slower in a way that’s unhelpful for this fight), fully upgraded Puppet String, and the Friendship Wishstone.

The Spectre is unfortunately hit or miss in boss fights wrt actually helping, but can be useful to draw aggro and let you get some attacks in, as @venigni said, or even give you a second to breathe, and that’s definitely true here. (There’s a specific Wishstone for it but imo you don’t even need to buy it because it happens naturally lol. Caveat: This works better in some fights than others because of tracking — not recommended for Black Rabbit Brotherhood gank.) If you’re using the Friendship Wishstone, pop ✨the Cube✨ when Giangio Romeo you from the future, stronger and cooler the Spectre has about half of his health left for maximum effect.

Use Puppet String to build up stagger while he’s on all fours. He’s fairly susceptible to it; I think it was about three times I had to use it before that health bar went white. (It’s also just goated.)

For his actual attacks, although his second phase is a spicier version of the Scrapped Watchman, try approaching him like Archbishop Andreus instead. That is, stay in his face and dodge INTO him. This sounds counterintuitive and in most other fights you’ll have a bad time, but for whatever reason he’s similarly less able to hit you at that close range, and he’s more manageable if you don’t give him an opportunity to ever use his ranged attacks. Ideally, roll into him at an angle (left) so you end up on his right side (many bosses are weak here it seems), or end up going right through his legs, because most of his attack AoE is directly right in front of him — and because just like Andreus you wanna target his ass. Just completely go to town on him back there, especially if the Spectre has his attention.

His burrowing attack can be avoided by running around, but if you learn the timing to dodge or even block/parry it it’s super punishable. He telegraphs pretty obviously: hit him with a charged heavy attack when he stands up on two legs, but watch out for whenever he shakes his head in particular.

If you’re trying to hone your parrying skills, my general advice is that it’s more practical to pick one or two specific attacks and focus on mastering perfect guarding those, rather than trying to do so with everything. His Scrapped Watchman punch with the windup is a good one to learn, for instance. Remember, too, that if you’ve played other Souls games before (Sekiro especially), you may actually need to unlearn some muscle memory, because Lies of P is the opposite and the window for a successful parry is based on you, not the enemy. Generally, you want to press the block button as soon as you see an attack start to connect (i.e. a limb moving toward you) and HOLD, not tap it — if you’re early, you still get a block and can regain health by attacking.

ok i tried everything. i just can't beat him. fuck the green monster. Got the scrapped watchmen first try but this thing? even with an specter? idk. king of puppets was somehow fun and even victor was "easy" after i knew his moves. but the monster seems to have no window for a attack? he's constantly moving and I can't land a punch. for the first time i really don't enjoy this game ffs.

[keeps-ache]

i think i'm starting to really like writing again :D this will have consequences

[baejax-the-great]

So the one reason to go to Arkansas is to drive through a town named "Flippin," where everything sounds like a euphemism. Flippin Fire Dept. Flippin School. Flippin Police. Etc.

While that does sound charming, I don't know that justifies a trip to Arkansas

[luetta]

idk if people on tumblr know about this but a cybersecurity software called crowdstrike just did what is probably the single biggest fuck up in any sector in the past 10 years. it's monumentally bad. literally the most horror-inducing nightmare scenario for a tech company.

some info, crowdstrike is essentially an antivirus software for enterprises. which means normal laypeople cant really get it, they're for businesses and organisations and important stuff.

so, on a friday evening (it of course wasnt friday everywhere but it was friday evening in oceania which is where it first started causing damage due to europe and na being asleep), crowdstrike pushed out an update to their windows users that caused a bug.

before i get into what the bug is, know that friday evening is the worst possible time to do this because people are going home. the weekend is starting. offices dont have people in them. this is just one of many perfectly placed failures in the rube goldburg machine of crowdstrike. there's a reason friday is called 'dont push to live friday' or more to the point 'dont fuck it up friday'

so, at 3pm at friday, an update comes rolling into crowdstrike users which is automatically implemented. this update immediately causes the computer to blue screen of death. very very bad. but it's not simply a 'you need to restart' crash, because the computer then gets stuck into a boot loop.

this is the worst possible thing because, in a boot loop state, a computer is never really able to get to a point where it can do anything. like download a fix. so there is nothing crowdstrike can do to remedy this death update anymore. it is now left to the end users.

it was pretty quickly identified what the problem was. you had to boot it in safe mode, and a very small file needed to be deleted. or you could just rename crowdstrike to something else so windows never attempts to use it.

it's a fairly easy fix in the grand scheme of things, but the issue is that it is effecting enterprises. which can have a looooot of computers. in many different locations. so an IT person would need to manually fix hundreds of computers, sometimes in whole other cities and perhaps even other countries if theyre big enough.

another fuck up crowdstrike did was they did not stagger the update, so they could catch any mistakes before they wrecked havoc. (and also how how HOW do you not catch this before deploying it. this isn't a code oopsie this is a complete failure of quality ensurance that probably permeates the whole company to not realise their update was an instant kill). they rolled it out to everyone of their clients in the world at the same time.

and this seems pretty hilarious on the surface. i was havin a good chuckle as eftpos went down in the store i was working at, chaos was definitely ensuring lmao. im in aus, and banking was literally down nationwide.

but then you start hearing about the entire country's planes being grounded because the airport's computers are bricked. and hospitals having no computers anymore. emergency call centres crashing. and you realised that, wow. crowdstrike just killed people probably. this is literally the worst thing possible for a company like this to do.

crowdstrike was kinda on the come up too, they were starting to become a big name in the tech world as a new face. but that has definitely vanished now. to fuck up at this many places, is almost extremely impressive. its hard to even think of a comparable fuckup.

a friday evening simultaneous rollout boot loop is a phrase that haunts IT people in their darkest hours. it's the monster that drags people down into the swamp. it's the big bag in the horror movie. it's the end of the road. and for crowdstrike, that reaper of souls just knocked on their doorstep.

[itsalwaysdark]

ome day i will be so normal

[knightofleo]

Finalists of the 2023 Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards

Dispute by Jacek Stankiewicz from Kraków, Poland: 'I caught this scene while watching birds in the Bialowieza Forest. Young greenfinch was still fed by parents. However, from time to time birds looked like having argument. My friends interpret this scene in two ways: A young naughty kid is arguing with a parent. Or one kid is reporting to the parent that its brother did something wrong: "Look he has broken the glass in the window"'

'Excuse me sir but I think you're a little too young to be smoking' by Dakota Vaccaro from Victor, United States: 'While I was working deep in the Virginian woods, a family of grey foxes took up residence under the deck of the abandoned cottage next to my work housing. One day while practicing their hunting skills on bits of moss and branches, one of the kits lunged at a small chunk of wood and started rolling around with his prize. Tired after his hunt the kit lounged on his belly still holding the wood in his mouth which gave the strong resemblance of a cigar. I was very envious of the kit at this moment cause who wouldn't want to just lay around all day relaxing'

The Rainforest Dandy by Delphine Casimir from Brussels, Belgium: 'This picture was taken in the monkey forest in Ubud, Bali. This place is a crazy place where monkeys are king! Sometimes they give a show, sometimes they climb on you to look for fleas or steal the piece of biscuit you are trying to eat'

Otter Ballerinas by Otter Kwek from Singapore: 'An arabesque smooth coated otter'

Picture me! Picture me!! by Dikla Gabriely from Yokneam, Israel: 'A brown bear in Finland who definitely did everything to make me pay attention to him and focus on him and not the other bears'

Boing! by Lara Mathews from Melbourne, Australia: 'Taken at Westerfolds Park, a beautiful and surprisingly wild pocket of land in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, famous for its kangaroo population. The mob was enjoying some morning sunshine when this joey decided to get silly and try his hand at boxing'

Living the Moment by Kawing Chiu from Staten Island, United States: 'Relax, lay back and enjoy the warm sun... This seal is scratching its face and it is seen lying on the side while his head is supported by his flipper. This image makes the seal like the reclining Buddha statue'

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.