#like. he is such a fucking nuisance to live with. what’s funny about his pattern of abuse is how there IS no ‘good period’ where he tries t

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

OHHH MY GOD THE WAY MY ASS FORGOT TO POST ABT THIS

Meet Spider-Mortis

(He/Him)

He used to be just a regular Spider-Man before his doc ock fucked up ans bombed the damn world. In the wreckage of the ruins he rose up to become a kind of Robin Hood figure, stealing from the rich in their bunkers hoarding resources to give to the survivors.

For his design I wanted to take a more apocalyptic fashion statement with the classic Spider-Man suit color and design, but also make it feel more mature, like he is going through an actual apocalypse. His color pallet consists of blues, reds, and desaturated greens for his clothes

I gave him two different logos, one a skull with spider legs coming out from it, and the other a radioactive symbol with the spider legs aswell. I decided to put the skull ver on his suit, and use the radioactive one for clothing accents (and also on his bag, not currently drawn)

I also gave him a gas mask because it’s just.. cool (and I like making everything harder for myself)

(⚠️slight gore both written and drawn ahead⚠️)

Now for his villains,

the ones I’ve already drawn are his doc ock and also vulture.

First, Doc Ock

Doc Ock was actually what inspired me to make this, after watching Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man I had a realization about how actually terrifying it could be if the chip thingy failed. Imagine if he ended up just being a corpse piloted by a bunch of robotic arms. That, is exactly what this doc ock is.

Because of his proximity to the blast, he pretty much died instantly, layers of flesh being the only thing left behind other then his robotic arms, who quickly gained control of his body afterwards. I’m not exactly sure how I want this character to act, whether it’ll just be a slight nuisance, or an actual villain I’m not quite sure.

I quite like my idea for his Vulture.

(She/They)

I Imagine her being some kind of anti-villain. They want the complete abolishment of the upper class, and could careless if all the humans left died as long as the rich died along with them. They tend to leave behind most the supplies they come across unless they really need them, the only thing she takes is the lives in the area.

I had a lot of fun with her character design. One of the things I had fun figuring out is how I could keep that aspect of femininity while also keeping it realistic for the apocalyptic environment. I went through a lot of different versions, experimenting with corsets for bust support, and different kinds of skirts etc before coming to my final design (possibly not final design)

I gave them a more lighter color pallet, using brighter greens and browns. I have a bit of an obsession with camo patterns and I thought it would fit with her character perfectly so i gave them camo pants. I also took the boot design straight from Pinterest. (Guilty as charged.)

I added beige leg warmers to match with her top, which I’m not exactly sure how I’d explain it. Kinda like a wrap top? With a strap over stop of it. I gave them this kind of leather cape hood combo, and put it overtop of the bird skull mask (based off a vulture) I gave her. Underneath that she has a white, button up shirt, with the sleeves tucked into gloves, which I modeled after bird handling gloves.

Now here comes the part I love the most. I spend a lot of time researching vultures, and I am in love with the idea that she has a flock of vultures that just follow her where she goes. The idea that they leave behind enough bodies to where the vultures know if they follow them they’ll get food is fucking badass.

Like seriously. Imagine accidentally stumbling upon her camp and you look up and there’s just a kettle (the name of a group of vultures) of vultures watching your every move looking at you like they want to pluck your eyes out.

I also have a few ideas for some other villains

Deadpool (I think it would be quite funny in a setting where everyone is heavily dressed to avoid radiation and injury he’s just in the most revealing slutty outfit known to man)

Kraven, which I could possibly pair up with Vulture for an arc

The lizard, which could quite literally just be a radiated alligator

I’ve considered adding a black cat

Maybe some spin on vemon?

Let me know if you have any ideas I fucking love imput

[pinkfey]

my pos br*ther woke me up at 6AM bc he’s playing video games so fucking loudly and our walls are made of paper and no matter how much i tell him i need to sleep he doesn’t hear me through his headset 😐😐😐 i am just sitting here fml

[narniaandplowmen]

to say the truth (or lose his love)

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 2898 words.

Part 1 of the to say the truth (or lose his love) series

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

In order to fulfil his contract, Geralt has to either kiss his true love, or find the Faery Queen's lost son. He assumes the latter will be easiest.

Jaskier had been feeling antsy for almost the entire day now. He didn't exactly know when it started, but as he looked at the apple Geralt had handed him in lieu of lunch, he suddenly realised that his insides were shaking and he was not at all hungry.

“There's a town three hours north.”  Geralt announced as Jaskier was contemplating the implications of his ever-growing anxiety.

"Ah! Lovely! An actual bed to sleep in tonight!”  He tried to measure his voice, but he knew Geralt could hear the artificiality of it. He had never been a very good actor.

“Hm.”

As they travelled in uncharacteristic silence, Jaskier's antsy feelings only grew and grew. Instead of becoming louder, as he usually did when he was nervous, he turned almost as quiet as the stoic Witcher himself.

“You okay bard?”

“What? Oh! Just looking at these beautiful trees, and all those-”  Jaskier’s voice broke as he suddenly realised that alongside the path grew "buttercups." Fuck.

“You sure you're okay?”

“I'm sure!" Jaskier was sure he was not okay, and he did not know who he was trying to get to believe otherwise.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

“Fae.”  Geralt grumbled before the bard could even ask what the new contract was. "Been stealing the grain. Poisoning the cattle. The mayor's wife is about to give birth, they're fearing a changeling.”

“Aha.”  Jaskier just replied. “Are you waiting till tomorrow?”

“Sun’s still up for another few hours. Might as well try to find them now.”

“Yes. Right. Well. I'll just. Wait here for you to come back. Don't step in any circles, okay?”

And off the bard went, waving his lute questioningly at the innkeeper. Geralt rose an eyebrow, surprised that Jaskier hadn't insisted on coming along, as he usually did. Not that he minded. When the little town's mayor had told him about the village’s problems, Geralt had dreaded the prospect convincing Jaskier to stay behind almost as much as he was dreading fulfilling the contract. Not that he was going to complain, dealing with those damned Fae would be enough of a bother without the ever-blabbering Jaskier digging himself into holes he would not be able to climb out of. Still, weird. The sharp smell of anxiety hadn’t left the bard since early that morning, and Geralt made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. Just to make sure he stayed okay. Not because they were friends , but, well, Geralt couldn’t imagine that an anxious bard could earn a lot of coin. And winter was coming up, and Geralt wasn’t so heartless as to leave Jaskier for the winter without any sort of security that the man would be okay. Not that he spent his time in Kaer Morhen worrying about the bard. No, they weren’t even friends.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The Fae were not hard to find. Geralt had stumbled upon the first circle less than half an hour after leaving the village, meaning they had been living there for longer than the mayor had insinuated. Which also, Geralt realised, meant it would be more difficult to make them leave. He grunted and grabbed one of the sugar cubes he usually reserved for Roach, tossing it into the grass in the middle of the circle of blooming dandelions. A voice like the softest bells immediately replied.

“Witcher! Our Queen has been expecting you!”

Their Queen. That explained the proximity to the village. If the Court was big enough that it was ruled by a Queen rather than a Lady, it was properly able to defend itself against angry, overconfident villagers.

“What an honour,”  Geralt grunted sarcastically.

“She's straight ahead,”  the little fairy, a tiny green thing, pointed. “Take a right at the Oak, she's waiting near the buttercups.”

The creature said the final word as if they were supposed to mean something to him. He supposed they did. The bard's clothes always had a buttercup pattern. Not that he had been staring at the bard, no. He had just noticed it whilst repairing one of Jaskier's doubles. Just to stop his whining, not because he cared. He was just a nuisance, making his life more difficult every step of the way.

Ignoring the fairy's pointed look and carefully manoeuvring around the circle, Geralt made his way to the promised Queen.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“You're back early! I don't suppose the Fae were incredibly forthcoming and ready to move immediately?”  There almost seemed to be hope in the bard's voice.

“No.”  He sighed. “They want payment.”  

“Of course they do. And surely they weren't as forthcoming as to actually tell you what they want?”

“They were.”

“Wait what?” the surprise in Jaskier's voice was genuine. “Since when does m- a Fae Queen clearly state what she wants? That makes it suspiciously easy.”

“How did you know there was a Queen?”

“What did she want? Honey? Fish? Coin?" Jaskier pointedly ignored the question.

“True love's kiss.”

“What.” Geralt almost wished he could have a painting made of the stunned look on the bard’s face. Just because it looked so funny, not because it made the bright blue eyes stand out gorgeously, not because it emphasised the beautiful curve of the young man’s eyebrows, not because- Geralt quickly shook his head.

“She wants me to kiss my true love. Or, alternatively, she wants me to deliver her son home.”

“Ah. So. Great, I'll- I'll go get my stuff. Leave you to- to find Yennefer.”

“Why would I try to find Yennefer?”

“You just said 'true love'?”

The Witcher rolled his eyes. “Yennefer is not my true anything. Now, did you see any suspicious adult men here during your performance?”

“Did I what now?”

Geralt started humming.

“Geralt! Are you singing?! And not even one of my songs?”

“Sh! I’m trying to remember...” And, to Jaskier’s flabbergasted surprise, the Witcher started to softly sing.

“Twenty years he’s come and gone, in winters lies he here.

But now, my child, the time is come, for him he holds so dear

to say the truth, or lose his love, the lute will let you see

my son, at last, should travel home with him he loves or me,

to him he loves or me. ”

Jaskier stared at him, eyes and mouth wide open. “You can sing.”

“That’s not the point, Jask-”

“You. Can. Sing!” The bard now truly sounded offended. “And you say that’s not the point? Geralt, How many times have I tried to get you to sing along with my songs? My ballads? And not even just in public! You refused to sing when we were sitting next to a campfire gods knows where-”

“Jaskier!”

“I have to say Geralt, if I knew it took a meeting with m- with a Fae to get you to sing I would have-”

“Your lute,” Geralt interrupted. “The lute should reveal the fairy prince. Did you see anyone strange whilst I was gone?”

“You can sing.”

“Anyone in the audience? Jaskier, please.”

“Nobody in the audience looked out of the ordinary, Geralt. And I doubt that the fairy prince would calmly stop to listen to music so near to his mother’s court.”

“The Queen said that she knew her son was in the village. We have to ask around, see if anyone here disappears during winters. That must be something people notice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jaskier laughed, and Geralt couldn’t help but detect a bit of bitterness in the bard’s voice. “But if you’re so insistent, I’ve been asked to perform again when everyone has put their children to bed. So you can sit there and endlessly wait till your medallion starts vibrating or whatever, but I am pretty sure it won’t. There will be no fairy princes in the audience tonight.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

There were no fairy princes in the audience that night. Instead of staying hidden in the shadows, Geralt had wandered through the inn during Jaskier’s performance, carefully observing the guests. He had spoken with the innkeeper, the mayor, a few women who were all too willing to gossip about the ins and outs of everyone in the village, but he had heard nothing that could help. He kept thinking about the words the Queen had sung. The time had come for someone to say the truth? Who? The person the prince held dear? The prince himself? And why would the prince lose that person if the truth wasn’t spoken? He stared blankly as Jaskier carefully wiped the lute down, inspecting it for any potential damages. The lute will let you see.

“Jaskier.”

“Oh, are you done brooding?”

“I need to borrow your lute.”

“Wait, are you telling me you cannot only sing, but also play? Twenty years we have been travelling together, twenty long years and-”

“Not to play. To see.”

“Listen Geralt, if you don’t know the difference between glasses and an instrument I don’t know what to-”

“The song, Jaskier. It says the lute will let me see the prince, so maybe I have to hold the lute.”

The bard looked at him doubtfully.

“I won’t let any harm befall it. I know how important it is for you, Jaskier. I promise I won’t damage it. I will protect it like- Like I protect Roach.”

“Fine. But if you-”

“If something happens to it, I will do everything in my power to repair or replace it. I swear.”

“Good.” Jaskier bit his lip. “And make sure you return it before dinner. This is a well-paying crowd.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Geralt felt like a fool, wandering through the village holding Jaskier’s lute. It didn’t help that the lute wasn’t helping. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nobody knew of anyone disappearing during winters, and, as far as he could track, there were no secret lovers either. So he did the only thing he could think of, and, lute in hand, walked back into the forest.

This time it took even less to find the fairy Queen. She seemed to be waiting for him, unsurprised that he came alone.

“You brought the lute.”

Geralt nodded. “I am sorry, your highness, but I have been unable to find your son. If you could but tell me how he looks li-”

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

“The lute. Give it to me.”

“It is not mine to give.”

The Queen smiled and waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Witcher, I know how much it means to the one it belongs to. He will get it back.” Geralt just looked at her. “He will get it back, whole, undamaged, in the exact state as it is now, before sunset.” the Queen specified. “I mean no harm to your bard.”

“He’s not my-”

“The lute, Witcher.”

Geralt sighed and, carefully not to enter the circle, handed the lute to the brown-haired lady.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

She did not break it. She did not enchant it, or cut its strings, or anything else. Instead, she played. One of Jaskier’s songs, Geralt recognised it. Not that he listened to the bard when he played, he tried to tune it out most of the time, but it wasn’t like he was completely able to avoid hearing the endless stream of music that joined him every place he went. After that song was done she played another, and another, and another. All of them written by Jaskier. She did not sing, though some of her servants would hum the occasional line or dance along.

It was getting late when Geralt spoke again. “You are a talented player, Lady, but I promised I would return this instrument to its owner before dinnertime. I could fetch you another lute from the village, if you want?” He knew from experience that even slightly antagonising a Fae court would make his task of getting them to leave exponentially more difficult.

“Ah, no, I think I like this lute better. It carries memories, you know,” she replied, continuing to play. Geralt was surprised at how suspiciously amiable this entire contract had gone. Any other Fae would have deviously tried to trick him by now, or forcibly dragged him into the circle. “Besides, the lute is not yours. I will return it to him who owns it.”

Fuck.

“You want me to fetch Jaskier.”

“Oh, there is no need for that. He is already on his way. He is pretty pissed, Witcher.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The moment the words left the Queen’s mouth, Geralt heard the distant footsteps of the bard. He indeed sounded angry, but, as Jaskier came closer, Geralt noticed he smelled more of fear than of fury. Geralt frowned. Jaskier was never afraid. Sure, he would be scared of husbands he cuckolded, or the monsters Geralt fought, but never scared like this.

“What the fuck, Geralt. I lend you my lute, you promised you would keep it safe, and you hand it over to someone else? A Fae Queen? Are you mad? Are you short of a few marbles? A few thousand marbles, perhaps?”

“Hello, Julian.” The Queen said, before Geralt could say anything in defence of his actions. “You know I won’t ever let any harm come to your instrument.”

“I know m- I know. But he didn’t!”

“I promised him I would not harm the instrument, and I promised that you would have it back by sunset. He had no reason not to give the lute to me.”

“He still should not have. Give it back.”

“Come and get it.”

“Why now? Why like this?”

“It’s been twenty years, Julian. It’s time. And since you refuse to do it, I am forcing your hand. He has to know. You’re being unfair to him by keeping silent. He will discover someday, anyway. You have to make a choice, either reveal it now, voluntarily, or I will force you.”

“Fine.” And before Geralt could say anything, before he could step forward, grab Jaskier and drag him away, Jaskier stepped headfirst into the fairy circle and grabbed his lute from the Queen's outstretched hand.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

He didn’t die. Or faint. Or grow old rapidly. Jaskier just stood there, next to the Fae Queen, cradling his lute, and nothing changed. Geralt blinked. That was not true. Something did change. He became a little taller. His ears were a little bit more pointy. His smile a little wider, and everything about him became more regal than any king Geralt had ever seen.

“What. The. Fuck, Jaskier.”

“Geralt,” the bard said, with a mocking bow, “meet my mum. Mum, Geralt. Though you already knew that.” He stepped out of the circle, still firmly clutching his lute, and Jaskier became, well, Jaskier again. Not that he had ever not been Jaskier, but still.

Geralt just stared.

“I am sorry Geralt, I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I didn’t know you, and then Filavandrel gave me this lute, and- and I just sort of started following you, and- You never even admitted I was your friend! The only time we ever talked about Fae you just told me you thought all of them were cheating bastards!” Geralt winced. “Yennefer never told you? I am sure she knew. And- I mean, I never aged! We have been travelling for two decades and I still look as young as when we first met! Do you mean to tell me you never noticed?”

“I thought- Your salves and-”

“Those can’t completely stop someone from ageing! I-” Jaskier’s voice suddenly went from exasperated to really quiet. “I’m sorry. I’ll go grab my stuff from the inn. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no Fae will ever harm you. I- I’ll see you in a bit, mum.” And with those words, Jaskier turned away and left.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“He did want to tell you, you know.” The Queen’s voice sounded from behind him. “He was just afraid of losing you. I hoped this would give you two a push in the right direction, but it seemed like I was wrong.”

“Jaskier’s a faery?”

“Jaskier is my son. He is High Prince of the Summer Court, and will inherit my throne in a couple of centuries.”

“Centuries? He is immortal?”

“As long as he doesn’t get himself into too much trouble, yes, he is.”

“Jaskier’s immortal. He won’t die.” Geralt stared in the direction the bard had disappeared in as his brain and heart rapidly embraced feelings had refused to acknowledge for the past twenty years.

“He has lived for over six hundred years, and he will live at least another ten times that.”

Geralt ran.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

By the time he arrived at the inn, Jaskier had already packed his belongings and was saying goodbye to Roach. “Jaskier!”

“I’m sorry Geralt.”

“I love you.”

There was a loud twang as Jaskier’s prized lute hit the ground.

“I love you. And I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t tell myself, and- I thought you would die, Jaskier! I thought you would die, and leave me here, and it was easier just to pretend I didn’t like you than to admit it and see you grow old and leave-” Geralt’s words were cut off as the bard’s, his bard’s, lips hit his. The smell of flowers, the taste of honey, the soft touch of Jaskier’s hand on his cheek- It was beautiful and gorgeous and real.

“You don’t hate me? For keeping this secret so long?”

Geralt just shook his head and kissed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The village’s cattle were safe, in the end. So was the harvest, and the mayor’s child, or any other baby born, for that matter. The Witcher had fulfilled his contract and received his coin, and by the time a young Oxenfurt graduate passed through the village singing a song of a white-haired Witcher and his Faery love, the people had long forgotten about their own encounter with the White Wolf of Rivia. It was not like they could know that every winter, Kaer Morhen bloomed wild with tiny, yellow flowers. Or that, every summer solstice, the Fae Queen’s celebrations were attended by a witcher. Or that, for many, many, many years to come, a humble bard and a friend to humanity, with rings on their fingers, would travel the Continent, never leaving the other’s side.

[storm-dragoness]

An incomplete list of birds I think are cool and why

Up first is a real good bird its crows

I like crows a lot, and not just because theyre cool black birds and i like and appreciate the goth *~*aesthetic*~* though that is part of it to be sure! They're also really smart! They use tools, they do things for fun, they have a sense of value and exchange, they dance and play in the snow, they wear hats (pictured above!) and in general are very cool. They’re considered bad luck but that’s just because they’re scavengers and are smart enough to see something doing something stupid and go "that’s gonna be dead soon and then i can eat it." Fucking superb you funky little death omen.

Up next is another good bird, its Crow 2 electric boogaloo, aka the Raven

Its bigger its stronger its smarter too the next member of the corvid crew.

This is as good a time as any to mention that I just like birds I don’t actually know how verifiable any of my information is. I’m aware of that. But i like ravens! They’re like crows but more! I remember reading a story about a raven who scared a small mob of crows and then laughed about it. And another about a raven who fed its mate who had a broken beak so she didn’t die. They’re smart, and have emotions and that’s cool.

Next is the other side of the goth bird aesthetic its the albatross!

Lookit that bird! Lookit those wings! Long thin wings for gliding and cruising on ocean winds. I think they’re neat because they’re (the only?) Birds that can lock their wings and fly while they’re asleep! They do this and cruise long distances over the ocean. That’s cool! Additionally, symbolism. Any bird ripe with symbolism is good in my book even if the symbol is regret. They’re good birds that do nothing to harm anyone so killing one is "a sin" and anyone who does so wears regret around their necks. I haven’t read the rime of the ancient mariner in a long time but i remember enjoying it.

Next bird!

Red-tailed hawk! These friends live in my area of New York and they’re really cool. They’re also the first bird I ever looked at and went "oh shit that’s a cool thing i think i like birds" because when i was in 4th grade this girl whomst i hated, her father was like. A wildlife person and he did a demonstration and he brought in one of these fellows and i was awestruck. They are very neat and even if i don’t know a lot about them, i like them. And they were the first bird i was able to identify in the wild going "that bird has a red tail and it looks like a hawk i bet its that!" And then being right. Also i think its the bird that tobias animorphs got stuck as. And i liked those books even if they’re fucked up as hell. 10/10 good bird though.

Moving on! Secretary Bird!

Secretary bird is cool! The guy who named it called it that because his secretary put pens in her hair, and he thought the feathers sticking out back looked like pens. Which is pretty funny. But funny names aside, these are cool birds! They stomp on snakes to kill them for food. Which is kinda badass. Don’t get me wrong i like snakes, but these fuckers see a snake and go "oh shit, food, and just wail on that motherfucker til its tenderized and ready to eat. They’re also fast, and really distinct looking which are both bonus points.

Next bird is Owls! Specifically barn owls, tyto alba.

Pros: very pretty bird. Look at those patterns. They've got the moon for a face. Theyre kinda spooky

Cons: kinda hard to draw. They all look p similar tbh.

Barn owls are among my favorite birds for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is the guardians of gahoole series. I loved those books and at one point read the first like. 13 in a single day. Soren was my favorite, and then coryn too. And nyra was a good villain. Idk its a good series about owls! Barn owls are silent fliers and have very good hearing because their ear holes are not symmetrical on their head which allows them to triangulate more accurately. And as previously stated, v pretty.

The next bird is a common friend, and to be honest not very popular, but i love pigeons

Pigeons are rad! People hate them, because they're plentiful and kind of a nuisance in cities and they poop everywhere, but non public pooping is a human concept and birds aren’t bound by your laws! Pigeons are beautiful, look at that iridescent plumage. I also think they’re pretty cute as far as birds go. It used to be the case that people kept pigeons as pets in cages on rooftops and they were showbirds, bred for ornamentation. I forget why this fell out of common practice, but for some reason people just stopped doing that and now everyone hates the city chickens... :c

Speaking of chickens... Chickens!

Chickens are great birds, they’re the mom friend. I think they’re just like, pretty funny as birds in general, but at the same time they’re pretty cute sometimes. And they’re friend shaped! Which is a plus. Besides that I love reading all sorts of different stories about how people will put different animals in a chicken’s nest and she’ll just. Adopt them. Like, oh I sit on you and therefore I am your mother. It’s a very fun instinct that they have and I find it really endearing. 

I don’t have a smooth transition to this next one, but next is the Peregrine falcon!

These little fuckers are cool for what I think is a pretty well known reason: their ability to become a perfectly aerodynamic little bird bullet and dive at impossibly high speeds. They’re not big birds, but if I’m not misremembering (and no I will not take 10 minutes to search for the video I’m about to mention) but I believe I saw a video of a peregrine taking out a bird at least twice its size, a fellow raptor who was encroaching on its territory, by diving out out nowhere at blazing speed and raking the fucker in a high speed flyby. Now I hate to see birds be taken out, but that’s nature, and frankly that ability is kinda cool.

There are more birds I like! But these are some of them!

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

SKIN DEEP—a fic

So Rainbow had a pretty funny exchange on Twitter yesterday about the Watford crew and teenage acne, and in particular if Baz would have acne. Which she said he most certainly would. So, being me, I had to go write a fic about it. Because I have no chill and even less self control. So here is a slightly crack-y fic, set at pre-canon era Watford, as hormones start to surge and Simon becomes pimple obsessed.

Screen shots of Rainbow’s tweets at the end of this post, to prove this lunacy had a real life prompt.

Simon and Baz fourth year, as the ravages of adolescence commence. Pimples, blemishes and spots. Questionable concoctions. The roots of Baz’s immaculate skin care regimen. Some things even a vampire can’t avoid.

Skin Deep

Year Four

Simon

I’m just about to splash water on my face when I notice them in the mirror. I mean, I’ve been expecting this to happen. I saw the older boys go all spotty at the homes. There’s no way I’d be lucky enough to be spared.

But fuck it all. I’ve got one on the side of my nose, two on my chin and one right between my eyebrows. How did I get all these pimples in one night?

I’m half tempted to think Baz spelled me. But that’s not his style, he doesn’t sneak about doing something like this, even though he’s a prick and a plotter. No, he did things like this when we were first years, but now when Baz spells me he wants everyone to know what he’s done.

Makes a production of it, the wanker.

Like when he knocks my boater off. Spells my shoes untied during class, so I trip when I stand up. Or seals the lid on the butter dish at breakfast.

If Baz was going to spell me spotty he’d do it in on a Monday, right before class, when everyone would notice. Not in our room, on a Saturday morning, when we’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

He’s still asleep so if he did do it, it must have been in the night and really what would be the bloody point of that?

I have to reluctantly admit it’s probably not him this time. It’s me. I was just hoping this particular stage of puberty would just pass me by.

The other milestones have been coming one right after another though, so I guess I’m not that lucky.

I’ve got hair in more places now.

And I grew three inches this summer (Baz grew four, the tosser, so he’s still taller than me).

He’s taller but it’s like he fits in his body. Glides when he walks. Smooth as silk on the pitch. Bloody infuriating, is what it is.

I feel like a marionette on a string, my arms and legs all out of sync, knocking into furniture and tripping over my own feet, even when my shoes are tied.

And my voice has been doing that stupid thing where it gets all deep mid-sentence, and then it goes up so high I sound like Madame Bellamy. It’s bloody awful. Baz always gives me shit about it --“going to break into song for us, Snow?”

He’s such a prick.

I lean in closer to the mirror. The ones on my chin are small. It’s the nose one that’s a disaster.

No help for it. I’ll ask Penny if there’s a spell at breakfast. Though I doubt there is, seeing as Agatha’s been spotty for weeks and I know she’d use a spell, if there was one. Penny says Agatha spells her hair to be that straight and shine like it does. I wasn’t sure I believed her but some days it’s got a bit of an uneven wave to it so I wonder if Penny may be right.

*******

“No, Simon, there isn’t a spell.” Penny is using her patient voice with me, which means she thinks my question is unbearably stupid. She leans across the table to peer at me over her glasses. “You’ve hardly got any.”

“I might only have four now. But just you wait. They’re bound to get worse. With my luck I’ll be covered in them.”

“You don’t know that. And even if they do get worse it’s human nature! The universal teen experience!”

I groan.

“It won’t be that bad, Simon. Besides everyone’s spotty.”

“Baz isn’t spotty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Baz again, please.”

“Have you seen him, Penny?”

“I see him every day, Simon.”

“Yes, but have you really looked?”

“Obviously not as intently as you.”

“I live with him!”

I get another eye roll.

“He’s not got one spot! I tell you, it’s proof he’s a vampire. You can’t go through normal adolescence and be as pristine as all that.”

“Everyone goes through puberty at different times. He’s probably not at that stage yet.”

“He’s taller than me!”

“He’s always been taller than you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“It’s not like he has any control over that, Simon. It’s genetics.”

I know that. I know height isn’t something that you can magick. But it just doesn’t seem fair that each time I grow enough to catch up to him, he grows too.

He did it last summer. Did it again this summer. Even grew over the Christmas holiday this year, the jammy bastard.

And now I’m sprouting pimples right and left and he’s across the dining hall with his flawless, pearly grey skin. Not a spot to be seen.

Typical.

****

I can tell I’ve got more when I wake up. Bloody hell. The old ones dry up and get crusty and new ones take their place.

My face feels heavier this morning. I grimace and I know there’s one on the side of my nose again. It pinches when my cheeks move so it must be massive. And the one on my chin itches— it’s probably grown overnight, red and welted around that nasty white center. I can’t even imagine what my forehead looks like.

I’ve tried everything.

Washing my face twice a day.

Alcohol to try to dry them out (didn’t do a thing, except make my skin all flaky so I looked like I had dandruff and the pox).

I borrowed some ointment off of Gareth. (He’s worse off than me, the poor sod, just a face full of them.) (Which should have tipped me off that whatever he was using wasn’t working.) (Got an earful from Penny about that.)

I had some sort of allergic reaction when I used his, so my face was itching, red even in the areas between the spots, and felt like it was on fucking fire.

Practically scrubbed my face off trying to wash it away.

Of course, Baz walked in right as I came out of the en suite. Did a double take at the sight of me, the wanker, then raised that eyebrow of his and curled his lip up in a sneer. Leaned forward and studied me for a moment. My face got even hotter. I don’t like it when he stares at me like that, all intense and focused. Like he’s plotting the best way to end me without triggering the Anathema. Makes my stomach twist, it does.

Made me wish my wand wasn’t half way across the room.

But I know Baz won’t risk the Anathema. He’s never done anything remotely threatening in our room. (It’s another story out of our room.)

He’d crossed his arms over his chest after he was done inspecting me and smirked, the tosser. “You know, Snow, between the excessive quantity of moles, infinite number of freckles, and extraordinary collection of pimples you have on your face, I don’t think I can actually see anything resembling skin anymore.”

He’s going to make me trigger the Anathema one of these days.

I ended up having to see the nurse for it, when I couldn’t stop scratching at my face. She rolls her eyes almost as much as Penny. It’s not like I can help being there so often. I’ve got missions. Important work for the Mage. It’s what I do.

She’d shaken her head at me and cast some spell that made the itching go away but didn’t do a thing for the bloody spots. Looked bored and put upon even doing that, she did.

This teen experience is a bloody nuisance.

I’m more and more convinced Baz is a vampire. The entire class looks poxed except for him. Like we’re in the middle of a plague while he’s all alabaster skin, unblemished and smooth, immaculate and bloody flawless.

Perfect, just like he always is.

Wanker.

Baz

Snow is an absolute spotted mess. It was entertaining at first, to watch him peer at himself in the mirror, hear the muttered curses as he would catch sight of each new blemish.

But I’m actually finding myself almost feeling sorry for him now.

Almost.

He’s standing at his mirror, turning his face this way and that, grumbling to himself as he inspects his reflection.

It’s something he does on a daily basis since his skin condition deteriorated so precipitously. I should probably stop needling him about it.

But I won’t because he actually seems quite bothered by it. Can’t let him think I’m going soft.

I wasn’t joking the other night, when I mocked him. I don’t think he has a span of skin left that doesn’t have some manner of spot or blotch or freckle on it. At least he’s stopped with the alcohol washes. He was shedding more than a snake when he was doing that, leaving errant flakes of skin all over the bathroom sink.

Disgusting.

Whatever he’s doing certainly isn’t making anything better. Making it a far sight worse by my estimation.

He’s literally a textbook illustration of acne vulgaris. The full range: from red and bumpy spots, to glaring pustules, to crusted over, scabby craters.

More like a walking dermatologic visual in actuality. You could slap a label on him: progressive stages of teenage acne and the entire range of pigmented facial anomalies.

Although they weren’t really anomalies before the acne got to Snow. His moles and freckles just seem to fit with his tawny skin—vast arrays of constellations scattered across his face, mapping out patterns against the smoothness of his complexion.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. What absolute nonsense. Snow’s freckles are a travesty.

And he’s anything but smooth complexioned. He’s more of a lunar landscape than Shakespeare’s damask’d roses.

I can’t be arsed to mess with him now though. I’m too comfortable under my blankets.

It’s far too early for anyone to be up, but Snow’s probably readying himself to head off on one of the Mage’s blasted missions again. Despite the fact that it’s a Sunday morning and by all accounts he should be doing what the rest of us are—having a lazy lie-in.

I watch him from under half-lidded eyes, the blankets pulled up to cover the bottom half of my face. He growls one last time, savages his curls in an attempt to tame them, and then charges out the door. It slams shut behind him, further proof that Snow has no regard for the niceties of sharing a room.

Thanks to all his thumping about, I’m now wide awake. I try to go back to sleep, try to will myself into a drowsy oblivion, but that ship has sailed. No Sunday lie-in for me and I lay the blame directly on Snow.

I stay under the covers for a bit longer, dreading the chilly walk to the en suite, but eventually my need to piss outweighs the comfort of the bed.

It’s not until I’m washing my hands and happen to glance up at the mirror that I notice.

There’s a pimple on my nose. Not just on my nose—at the very tip of it. Right in the fucking center of my face. If it were anywhere else—my forehead or my cheeks, for example—I’d have some chance of hiding it. But this. I can’t hide this.

And I can’t hide the one on my chin either. Bloody hell.

I shouldn’t even have pimples. I should by all rights be immune to this. I don’t get sick, I’m not prey to infections—how the bloody hell have I ended up with acne, for Crowley’s sake? It should be one of the perks of being undead—imperviousness to the ravages of teenage skin eruptions.

For half a minute I wonder if Snow has spelled me, in retribution for my insensitive commentary on his facial imperfections. But there is no possible way Snow could have managed a spell this precise, this nuanced. I’d be covered in boils, like Job himself, if Snow had attempted to pox me.

That’s not to say that this is acceptable. It most assuredly is not. And there’s no bloody spell for it. Dev’s been spotty since last year and he and Niall have yet to find anything that does more than slightly diminish the redness.

It’s fine. This is fine.

It’s not fine.

I need to call home and talk to Daphne. Surely she’ll have some advice for me.

Simon

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes me up. I’m still knackered from yesterday. Didn’t get back until well after midnight and I’ve got class in just a bit. I stretch and groan as my shoulder pops. I wrenched it trying to free my sword from that basilisk’s skull last night. I roll my neck and pull myself to a seated position.

Baz is already up. The door to the en suite’s closed but I don’t hear the water running.

My stomach growls. I’ll have time for seconds if I get to breakfast early enough. I’m just about ready to head down there when Baz comes out of the bathroom, steam drifting behind him and bringing the scent of his shampoo with it. It’s some posh brand, in sleek, artistically shaped bottles.

Penny says it smells like cedar and bergamot. I’m not sure what cedar and bergamot smell like. All I know is that the scent is unfairly pleasant.

Unlike Baz, who isn’t pleasant at all.

He looks murderous at the moment, eyebrows lowered, eyes narrowed. He’s an arse in general but more so in the mornings. He’d sleep late if he had the chance—he’s rarely out of bed before nine on weekends, the tosser, not unless he’s got exams to study for or an away match.

I’m trying to stay out of his way as I leave but I make for the door right as he crosses the room to his wardrobe and we do this awkward half step to avoid each other.

And that’s when I see it.

He’s got a pimple on his nose. Right at the tip of it, where it comes to a bit of a point. It’s nothing compared to any of mine. I’d hardly notice it on anyone else but this is Baz.

It’s stark against his pale skin, raised and just slightly reddened.

Fuck. He’s got one on his chin as well. Two, actually.

Baz has spots.

Trivial and hardly noticeable ones, but still.

I open my mouth to say something then think better of it and hightail it down to breakfast.

I still can’t quite believe it.

Baz has spots.

Penny is disappointingly unimpressed by this unexpected and highly irregular development.

“Simon, we all have spots. This is not some earth-shattering revelation. It’s puberty. A normal part of human development. We’ve been over this.”

“No, but this is Baz. Baz, Penny. He’s not human.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. She rolls her eyes rather a lot, I’m thinking. “He is if he has spots, Simon. I’d say this disproves your vampire hypothesis for good.”

“Maybe vampires aren’t immune to acne.”

“Simon.”

“Maybe it’s some plot. He probably magicked them up himself, the scheming prick.”

“You’re relentless! First you’re outraged that he doesn’t have spots, now you’re complaining that he does! For Merlin’s sake, Baz has finally shown himself to be as imperfect as the rest of us, so let it go, Simon.”

“He’s not imperfect. Far from it. Even his pimples are impeccable—small, unobtrusive, uh . . . restrained.”

Penny stands up, takes her plate and glares at me over the top of her glasses. “That’s enough, Simon. You’re being absurd. No one has perfect pimples.” She stomps across the hall to deposit her dishes, turning back to give me a disapproving look.

I scowl at her. Baz walks in as Penny goes out.

She’s wrong this time. Penny’s not wrong about much, but she’s wrong about this.

Baz’s pimples are fucking perfect.

It’s so fucking unfair.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383057

[trash-flavored-writing-blog]

Be Careful (I Don’t Know Why) Bakugou saves a waitress S/O and maybe finds something else?

TW: None but Bakugou’s filthy mouth

Characters: Bakugou

Summary: You run into one explosive hero and have an interesting shift.

Requests: Open <3

Your feet hurt, especially your toes, feeling as if they were on fire. Every step was like stepping on lit coal, and you just wanted your shift to be over already. Your eyes looked at the firetruck red clock to your right; gratefully finding your shift almost over. Only half an hour. Half an hour. Your eyes had a judging stare, secretly wondering if the clock was broken. 

Tik.         Tok.

Was time supposed to be this slow? Your dejected stare went back to the black and white checkered floor, remaining there as you walked back to the counter with greasy plates stacked and balanced on your hands. You went into the kitchen and deposited them in the sink, turning on the water. The water was cool on your overheated skin as you cleaned them. You mindlessly scrubbed them in circles, getting lost in the pattern; the white glass almost slipping from your fingers as the bell from the entrance dinged. You wiped your hands with a towel and swiftly headed for the front, each step a nuisance.

A ruggedly handsome face greeted you. Not really greeted, they more so grumbled something at you that you’re pretty sure you were supposed to be offended by, but you were too exhausted to be offended. Instead, you put your strength into mustering up the most genuine smile you could. “Welcome to the diner, may I help you?” He looked to his right, showing you his side profile. He had a strong and smooth nose with a chiseled and defined jaw. His hair defied gravity and almost looked messy, but each piece looked perfectly set in place at the same time, purposeful. You distantly recognized him as the hero Ground Zero. He really was handsome. “A place to sit, maid.” 

You raised an eyebrow and he gave you an incriminating look. Your eyes flash down to your uniform, an apron tied around your waist with a button-down dress underneath, and then your shoulders were shaking, bubbly laughter falling from from your lips. “What’s so funny, dumbass?” Your laughs dissipated, cheeks hurting as your eyes crinkled in a genuine smile. “Nothing, nothing.” His face scrunched up and his jaw opened for a second. “Let me get you a table.” You pivoted on your heel and went for the booth with the most gorgeous view. He tracked after you, his shoes stomping harshly against the tiles.

“Here you go sir,” you stopped in front of a booth with plush red leather seats and a beautiful view of the twinkling city lights. He plopped down into the seat, setting his elbows onto the shiny white table. You tugged a small baby blue menu out of the front pocket of your white apron, setting it down on the table and sliding it towards him. “I’ll be back in a bit when you’re ready to order.”

Five clean dishes later, you walked back to his table. Your eyelids felt like they had weights tied to them, and your feet were pulsating just standing there, but you still attempted to ask in a cordial voice, “Are you ready to order?” His eyes snapped from the night outside to your form. “Yeah, the fucking spicy chicken and fries.” Most customers here were nice, old folk. That was one of the niceties of your job, especially on nights like these. People like him were few and in between. They made your veins pop out, sure. But, they were also really fun. “Want to try that again?” It came out parent-like, though only a little. It quickly turned sarcastic with a playful edge to it. “Maybe try saying the magic word next time?”

His sharp eyebrows drew together, and his jaw clenched, nose flaring like a bull that’s seen a red flag.

“The fuck did you just say?”

“Only to be nicer,” you shifted your weight to your right hip. “Or is that too hard?” His eyes burned into your figure. His lip drew up into a snarl. “I don’t have to do shit.” You looked him over. He had a body concaved into itself , shoulders closer to his ears than a second ago, and lips in a weirdly attractive snarl. You met his eyes. They reflected smoldering ashes of a fire. “You’re a good hero, but you have a shitty attitude. The public doesn’t know you, except for your screaming and snarling T.V interviews or horrendous interactions with civilians. It’s easy to forget about the lives you save like that.” You scanned him again, he was the same, except more still. He barely moved, his chest neither going up nor down. “Be careful.” The polite smile from earlier returned to your face. “Your order’s comin’ right up.”

As you turned on your heel, you questioned why you said that. Maybe because  you were fed up with his attitude, or maybe because you’re tired and by then your filter disappears. Maybe it was because you thought he really needed to hear that. Perhaps you were just at the end of your rope. You didn’t care, you didn’t misspeak and lies didn’t fall from your lips. You just wanted to clock out and get these damn shoes off. You scurried into the kitchen and hurriedly told the cook his order.

You took the steaming plate from the counter, grabbing it around the edges and walking out to the tables. You could practically feel the bags under your eyes and each of your limbs felt like they were underwater. If you had to imagine what all those T.V characters felt like when walking through quicksand this would be it. Each step you took sent a spike of pain up your legs, but at least you were being paid for a workout. Your eyes burned. They shut for one second, and then your left knee went weak. It felt like you were free falling, nothing connecting you to the Earth. You could feel every second as if it was a minute.

Tik. Tok.

What?

No smashing of plates and no flash of pain appeared. You realized your eyes were still squeezed shut, tightly. Slowly, you blinked. 

Red. Bright red. Pale skin. Blonde hair. Annoyed look.

A warm arm squeezed your waist and tugged you back up right. He still looked peeved, but his grip was gentle as he brought you back to your feet and firm as he kept it put. “Be careful,” he smirked, eyes clashing with yours. “Dumbass.” You looked to your left and saw he squarely caught and balanced the nearly damaged plate, food still appetizingly in place. “Nice catch there.” You looked back down at the strong arm around your waist. “On both ends.” You then looked into his fiery eyes, a colorful mix of various reds. “And I will be.”

He cracked a devilish smile and set the plate down on the table next to him. The clink was loud, as by now the diner was deserted, too close to closing for most people. He used his now free arm to cunningly and sharply tug you closer to him by your waist. “Since you’re such a dumbass, why don’t I stick with you to make sure you’re careful?” You chuckled and wrapped your fingers around his firm biceps. “Be my guest.”

[heartsofminds]

Soapy Water

Description: A blurb in which she drinks three-fourths of a bottle of champagne and Shawn gets splashed with a bucket of soapy water. 

Based on this drabble challenge

18.  “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

26. “The diamond in your engagement ring is fake.”

29. “How is my wife more badass than me?”

for @imfreefallinall 

-

Shawn always liked to call her the smartest woman in the world, and whenever he did, she delivered a chaste peck to his lips accompanied by a cheeky, “I know.”

But whenever she gets like this, shaky and stressed and so fucking irritated, she doubts how smart she is. She’s been prone to making shitty impulsive decisions and she likes to think she knows better. In fact, she knows that she knows better, but the champagne in the cabinet of her and Shawn’s condo tempts her.

She takes a picture of the bottle and sends it to her fiance who’s halfway across the world (either in Hong Kong or Manila; her days start to run together and she honestly can’t remember). She expects him to be asleep or busy or doing God knows what that’s work-related (because they both know he’s incapable of sitting still and just existing), but to her surprise, three gray dots pop up in their text thread.

“What’s the matter, babe?” he texts. She lets out a weak chuckle before locking her phone.

“If only you knew,” she whispers, popping the bottle and scrambling around the kitchen to find a glass.

She settles for a Spiderman cup that she can’t be damned to remember how it made a home in their cupboard. She shrugs her shoulders as she turns on her speaker and blasts After Laughter, letting the sound of Paramore’s 80s inspired riffs and sad lyrics take over her pity party.

She’s always been bad at letting people in and not allowing her emotions to fester. She liked to bury them in an effort to be less of a nuisance than what she thought she should be. Being a woman in law as a human rights attorney brought forth some pretty harrowing stories, and she doesn’t like to bring her emotions to court with her.

They fester and brew and she continues to swallow them until she explodes and lets out steam. She’ll recollect herself and start over until the pattern becomes full cycle again. She figures that she’s a fidgety person because she’s been drinking glasses of champagne to distract herself.

A fourth of the bottle is left when she decides to set it down and busy herself with the ever-growing list of cleaning she can never seem to tackle. She jolts up off the couch and stumbles a little; the feeling of walking after sitting for so long making her legs feel wobbly. She figures the headache she’s gonna have tomorrow will be a fucking beast, but she doesn’t care.

She starts to fill the sink with water and dish soap to start on the pile of dishes that had been sitting there for two and a half days. Her attention span is shortened due to the alcohol coursing through her veins as she starts on the laundry before attempting to rearrange the entire living room. She starts to wonder if she should clean Shawn’s guitar room as well, but she stops herself before she lets her thoughts get too far.

That’s one thing she definitely knows not to do while she’s tipsy. The last time she stepped foot in the room she was sober, and the baby blue guitar he loved so much took a tumble to the floor. The goddamn thing had to be sent to a special guitar shop in the fucking Netherlands to fix the strings and preserve the “unique” sound. She figures that drunk or sober, Shawn wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, so she shakes her head to dislodge the thoughts before resuming the eighteen million different tasks at hand she created.

She’s in the middle of scrubbing the tiles in the kitchen clean while belting out “Pool” in such a horrid way, she’s sure Hayley Williams herself would be embarrassed to admit she wrote the song.

The front door bursts open and she swears her heart stops. She scrambles for her phone to turn the music off and shuts the lights off in the kitchen and living room. She staggers to her feet, grabbing the bucket of filled with water and Fabuloso she was previously occupying herself using. She takes light steps; walking quietly (as quietly as her drunk self thinks she could be) while struggling to not trip over the shoes left in the hall and random piles of clothes she was planning on washing.

The intruder could be a burglar or a kidnapper or Brian, but she can’t bring herself to think logically. Her eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the dark, but she can see a tall figure that she can only imagine being a fear-eliciting, hostile stranger.

She sees the ominous blob raise its arm and she screams; flinging the bucket forwards and hearing the intruder scream back.

“What the fuck! What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!”

Its voice sounds familiar and she can’t put her finger on why it does. When it reaches over and flicks the hall light on, that’s when she sees him.

Shawn wipes his face with his soaked arm; not really helping what he was trying to achieve, but desperate to get the soapy water out of his eyes.

“Oh my God, babe. What the fuck are you doing?” he sighs, shaking his hands and walking over to the bathroom to rinse his eyes with water.

“I- I thought you were an intruder. You weren’t supposed to be home for another week. You scared the shit out of me,” she hiccups and Shawn can smell the alcohol on her breath.

“Have you been drinking?” he asks, not looking at her because he’s preoccupied with cleaning his eyes.

“It was a few glasses,” she pauses, “That turned into over half the bottle. Please don’t be mad. M’stressed.”

He turns to a pile of her folded laundry on top of the machine in the hallway. He reaches past her, grabbing the mauve colored shirt he knows she stole. He takes his soaked black one off in exchange for the lighter hued one. Shawn turns the tap off and perches his arms up on the bathroom counter. He looks at his red eyes in the mirror before shifting his gaze towards her.

“In the kindest way possible, you look terrible, love. You know you’re a lightweight and you know you have to work tomorrow morning,” he whispers, moving towards her.

He takes his finger and gently presses it underneath her chin, forcing him to look up at him. He can see the tears in her eyes threatening to fall, knowing that she’s about to fall apart any minute.

“Baby, no,” he coos, wrapping her up in a hug, “You know you’re allowed to take a break, right? And you know that feeling things is a human thing. It doesn’t make you weak or stupid or fragile. You can’t make yourself feel bad for having feelings.”

Her tears fall rapidly, soaking through the mauve t-shirt he has on. “I know. I know and it’s stupid to cry about being frustrated but I didn’t wanna be a bother and be the clingy, emotional girlfriend,” she sobs.

He rocks back in forth with her in his arms, resting his chin on top her head.

“Well, you’re wrong about being my girlfriend. We’re engaged now, baby. You’re my fiance, and regardless of your title or whatever the fuck, I’m gonna be available to you always.”

She releases herself from his chest, wiping the tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

“M’so stupid. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Yeah. And the diamond in your engagement ring is fake.”

She looks down at the gold ring decorating her finger. “Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Shawn chuckles. “No. Of course not. I was just saying something untrue. Kinda like how you just did.”

She slaps at his chest playfully. “Knock it off.”

“You’re not stupid and when I said I wanted you, I said all of you and I really mean it. I want you on your bad days and good days,” he sits down on the couch, pulling her onto his lap to straddle him. “I want you in your morning glory when you think you look terrible. I want you at nighttime when we go out and you look all sexy in those dresses. I want you forever and always because that’s what I’m here for.”

She avoids eye contact with him, looking down at her hands making little circles on his clothed chest.

“I just feel all this pressure. You know? To be the best and to help people with these cases I take on and to be here for you and to be everything you need. I haven’t visited you on tour once this year, and- and I couldn’t even remember if you were gonna be in Hong Kong or Manila or if you were actually supposed to come home today. I just feel terrible and I know I should’ve called or texted you back, but I just couldn’t bring myself to.”

Shawn shakes his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her’s.

“You’ll never bother me. We’re in this together. And don’t feel bad about not keeping up with my schedule. You’re out here fighting for people’s rights and doing super smart lawyer stuff and making all these cases and winning them,” he pauses, putting his arm underneath his neck to support himself. “All I do is sing the same twenty songs for a year before putting more out. I’m thankful for my job, but I’m even more thankful for you. You’re super smart and kind and funny and you look super sexy when you wear those pencil skirts. How is my wife more badass than me, huh?”

She lets out a weak chuckle. “A hell of a lot of willpower and a superstar to keep me sane.”

He presses a kiss to her swollen lips. He makes the kiss deeper, pressing his hand to her back. She relaxes into his hold, both of their lips attacking each other with expressions of desire and gratitude.

Shawn suddenly stops, eyebrows raised and neck craned to look around.

“Were you washing dishes?” he asks.

She gives him a puzzled look. “Yeah? I think so?”

Shawn shifts and she moves off of his lap.

“Fuck. Did you turn the faucet off?”

Her eyes widen and she scrambles to the kitchen, greeted by the sound of splattering water.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she yells and Shawn lets out a laugh.

His long legs carry him to the scene of the spill to grab some paper towel while mocking her for being so forgetful.

They both laugh, and it’s this moment when she realizes that she loves this man more than she already does.

[vore-scientist]

The Machine of Dreams

[G/t M/m platonic safe soft vore]

A Tale of the Mystic Woods

Yonah (the “evil” giant wizard) deals with thieves on a regular basis. They are rather a nuisance but they do taste good!

Almost every encounter with a thief follows a pattern: 1) Thief breaks in to the tower. 2) Yonah catches and eats the thief. 3) Yonah releases the thief and if they accept it, gives them some money for their trouble. but what happens when a thief figures out his bluff?

Warnings: fearplay until it’s not scary anymore... Very vague mention of fa/tal vore (none occurs). Minor skin irritation due to stomach acids occurs but no permanent harm is done.

-----

It was late afternoon in the Tower in the Woods. A lazy late afternoon. The tower’s resident evil giant wizard and his captive princess were playing cards in the living room. Both sitting on the coffee table in human sized chairs with a human sized table between them. Cards was one of those things where it was hard to play with players at different scales.

The stakes were high in this game! If Sophia lost she would get eaten! So she was determined to win. Not because she wanted to avoid getting eaten, but to deprive Yonah of his prize. Even knowing he could eat her regardless, she knew he liked to feel as if he earned a treat.

“HA! A king! I go again!” Sophia drew a second card which she did not have to announce in order to progress with her turn. It was a Jack of Stars! Hell yeah! She discarded a 4 of Reeds into pile 3 and a 9 of Stars into pile 1. Still in her hand was the King of Spirals, the Jack of Stars, a Two of Diamonds, and a 4 of Diamonds. She sent a quick prayer to the gods of fortune as Yonah drew a card.

He examined it, he had an excellent FizzFace.

“I play this Jester,” he declared. This could change the entire game!

It was an Apprentice Jester, so not as chaotic a move as it could have been but still! Fuck! She held out her cards face down and he took one. Then he did the same. They both placed their cards facedown in front of them, they were not able to see what card was taken.

Then yonah chose two of the four piles, added the two cards and shuffled the piles together. He took his sweet time, doing a bunch of card tricks, no magic needed. Show-off. Sophia was never good at card tricks, and with Yonah’s oversized deck she could never, the cards didn’t fit her hands that way. She couldn’t even shuffle them!

Finally he dealt them each a new card and Sophia was able to look at her hand. Now she was the one who had to put on a FizzFace.

Playing a Jester didn’t count as a turn, Yonah still had to draw and discard.

“FIZZBIN!” Sophia yelled and flipped her cards:

King, Two, and a pair of Jacks.

A ROYAL FIZZBIN, an automatic win!

“Thanks for playing that Jester!” Sophia got up and hugged Yonah, who sighed and smiled. Aw well, he’d win next time for sure.

“Another round?” he gathered the cards and started shuffling, “Maybe best two out of three?”

The more they played the more likely he was to win at some point. But Sophia liked the idea of winning too. Even if there was no reward for her other than victory. If they were going to make this a game night, then it should be a game night!

“Yes but not Fizzbin, maybe Dragon’s Hoard?” if Yonah was so set on winning for winning sake, there was no better choice.

“That one is all luck of the deal! There’s no skill involved,” Yonah complained. Though as he did he thought that a 50% chance of random victory was appealing, but was a reward truly earned if he did nothing but get dealt the winning hand at the start?

“Elf’s Gambit then!”

“You’re too good at that one,” Yonah had no idea why but he’d never beaten her at Elf’s Gambit.

“Fine not a card game then-” Sophia stopped as Yonah sat up straight, and saw his big ears twitch every so slightly.

“A thief?” she didn’t hear anything but his hearing was astonishingly good. Even if he was currently physically reduced in stature, his senses were just as keen.

Yonah smiled, “just heard them hit the floor upstairs. I’ll be right back” he jumped off the table, returning to normal size, and went to the stairwell. Then turned back.

“Did you want to come with?”

Hmmmm. She kinda did. It would be a continuation of game night.

“No thanks, I’m good. Have fun!”

He disappeared upstairs and Sophia heard him say his classic line. Blah blah blah.

Damn, now that she came down from the minor high of winning Fizzbin she did kinda want to see what was going on. She climbed down to the floor. maybe she would get up stairs in time. Maybe.

She arrived at the workshop in time to see Yonah, sitting at his desk, smiling as he swallowed and the bulge in his throat fell away. A Few more swallows later his midsection filled out, and the wizard took a long couple of sighs.

It was… way too quiet. She got closer.

No screaming, no visible struggling. Had this been a slayer?! She approached and Yonah smiled down at her. No. His mood was too pleasant. Killing slayers always made him irritable for at least one night.

/Something funny was going on/ Sophia thought as Yonah lifted her onto the desk and poked at his stomach.

Now there was movement and Sophia’s heart rate returned to normal.

“I’m letting you out,” he informed whoever was in there.

“Wait already? Is everything- YIPE!”

Yonah didn’t let them finish their sentence as he hacked and heaved until he was red in the face and his throat swelled.

A pair of hands appeared at the front of his mouth and Yonah provided a finger for them to grasp. A well dressed young man with bright red hair and a smiling face full of freckles slid out of the giant’s mouth. Yonah set him down gently in between himself and Sophia. He stood up with Yonah’s hand for assistance.

While not freakishly tall he had a good foot over Sophia. He wiped his face, looked at the gobsmacked princess and then back to Yonah with a sparkly-eyed smile.

“Is that her?”

Yonah nodded and the man approached the princess.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” his voice was low, lower than Yonah’s, but infinitely softer. He spoke slowly, putting consideration into and savoring each choice of words.

Still processing, Sophia did not take his hand. His smile faltered a bit but looking at his hand; strings of drying mucus webbed between a few fingers. He laughed lightly, “Of course. Ah- I would not want to shake my hand either-”

“Oh! No,” she took his sticky hand. There was only one reason someone would be so happy after being eaten. “Yes, I am Sophia of Orr. And you’ve been here before haven’t you?” She glared at Yonah.

His smile fell, but not much, “Surely he’s mentioned me?”

“Must have slipped his mind,” Sophia smiled fakely at both men. Yonah rolled his eyes, though his cheeks had flushed a bit.

“But,” she said, “I think introductions can wait until you’ve washed up.” she almost wiped her hand on her tunic. Instead she cleaned it on Yonah’s sleeve. Yonah glowered And touched the man, casting prestidigitation. The smell still lingered but he was dry!

Sophia climbed onto Yonah’s shoulder to look down at the man who’s innocent face followed her. Crossing her arms she directed a very proper Royal Order at this mystery human.

“So, who the fuck are you?”

---

Dang. It had been a while since he took a proper breath! That was a sign he needed a break. That And his eyes stung from looking down at diagrams through a magnifying glass for so long.

Yonah marked the place in the book and went downstairs to make some tea. Maybe he would have a small mug of soup too. Something light but rejuvenating.

He had only just taken a sip of the tea and poured cold soup into a metal mup, preparing to heat it up in his hands, when he heard it.

CRASH! Clanky-clank-tink tink

That came from his Workshop. Abandoning his tea and soup he silently made his way upstairs. What he found nearly sent him into an explosive rage.

About a month ago King Ben's Arcane Archeologists had unearthed some sort of device. About the size of a carriage, and made of precious alloys And spelled jewels. It was like a big puzzle box. The pieces slid and twisted. Not that anyone was stupid enough to try and solve it.

From the half-decipherable warnings, it was some sort of weapon, and it brought ruin to an ancient kingdom. While not functional it was full of magic. One of the rookie Archeologists had looked into one of the embedded jewels and had nightmares for 2 weeks. Someone else touched it with their bare hands and believed their hands to be made of butterflies until given a drought of 5 times distilled passion fruit gin with wing dust of fire cave moths.

Neither Ben nor his Archeologists wanted to deal with it after that. So it got sent to him.

This wasn’t because of his skill and knowledge as a wizard, it was because he was sturdy. he was resistant to whatever dream magic was leaking out of it. He could safely hold and examine it. And if he felt confident, attempt to solve it.

And he was… disposable. If went off and he died… well. That would be a small annoyance to the kingdom but ultimately not detrimental.  It’s not like he was important to the prosperity of the kingdom in any way. He was just a quest point and guardian of magical items too dangerous for other mages to handle.

All this to say, it was that very device which had been pushed off its stand and lay in pieces.

It had not, thankfully, sent out a pulse across the forest, putting all the residents to sleep and condemning them to a shared nightmare curse that needed to be broken in a hundred years by some hero kissing awake a long lost heir who had been hidden away in The Woods since birth.

Nope. It had simply broke into a danger-zone of sharp metal and crystal across the floor.

The most intact section was by the table, and so was the human. They were wrenching off pieces of gold and prying out gems, for some reason ignoring the easily picked up debris behind them.

Weeks of work GONE! The shove of one human and it was all for NOTHING! And he would have to report this to the king! UGH! He had more than half a mind to kill this Jack.

As his stomach, already wanting from the still cold soup downstairs, rumbled in agreement the idea soured in his mind. No. He didn’t want or need a human as a meal. But the thought of eating this human, enjoying the flavor and getting to fill his belly with the wriggling panicking bastard, even temporarily, was keeping him from blowing up in anger. Smoke would be a dead giveaway, and this fucker, so focused on their task, deserved a good scare.

——

The shadow fell across him and his heart nearly stopped. This could only mean one thing.

“Hello little one,” a low rumble fell upon him like an avalanche.

“Oh don’t be so surprised. With that crash I would have heard you from 3km away.”

Not even bothering to turn around he bolted towards the window.

And immediately fell over in agony as his pants snagged on a sharp bit of metal which sliced into his left calf. A second later giant fingers wrapped around his waist and lifted him up.

“I supposed I should get the formalities over with” said the giant.

If he was screaming before he forgot as the Giant’s voice blasted him like a blank canon shot.

“FEE FI FO FUM, I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE HUMAN KIND, IT MATTERS NOT THE THINGS YOU STOLE, I’VE CAPTURED YOU AND WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!”

When he opened his eyes he looked into glowing orange ones! The giants hair also glowed And smoked from the roots. The Giant was indeed dressed as the wizard who must surely live in this tower. But all of these things were trivial.

No no no no no!!! Eaten!!! He couldn’t get eaten!!!

The giant walked over to his desk and sat down.

“I’ll make this quick ok? Though you deserve a slow and agonizing death for this.”

Now he was shoved, face first, into the drooling maw. The tongue drew across his chest and face, forcing him to bump into the teeth as the giant gleefully tasted him.

He tried to fight it, but space was almost nil! He could elbow the cheeks but that achieved nothing and placed his arms between the teeth! So he tried to wrestle the tongue. Scratching, punching, wrapping his arms around and squeezing when it lifted up one time. Oof the bottom front teeth pressed into his chest before the tongue broke free of his flimsy hold and slipped between them.

Then it pulled him back! And gravity shifted as he slid to the throat. The rough surface of the tongue gave way to the slick walls of the esophagus as he was engulfed.

The crushing was nearly unbearable! He couldn’t BREATHE! The worst part was when there was a terrific pounding from in front of him as he passed by the heart. And it was slow going. The Giant was making sure he got to savor every moment of flavor, and Jake wished he could cry out as the tongue brushed over his wound. His legs were fully in the giant’s mouth now, about to be sucked into the throat with the rest of him.

As that happened, his arms and face breached into the stomach. The first breath of “air” was filled with despair and death. Before his knees were free from the esophagus he had completely filled the space, but it stretched to easily fit the rest of him.

Not that the air was pushed out, thank fuck, so there was some space to move around.

“Let! me! go!!”

—

A bit of the human’s blood mixed with spit dribbled down his chin. While Yonah preferred smallfolk to be uninjured, the human wasn’t bleeding out, so it didn’t bother him. It was a minor laceration and blood didn’t taste bad at all.  

And even with such a wound this human fought so wonderfully! Quite a performance against his tongue, letting him really experience Jack’s flavor.

Now the Jack was sitting comfortably in his stomach. Well, Jack was probably uncomfortable. Yonah was the one with a smile on his face. This human wasn’t exactly big but he was tall, a nice size to struggle and stretch.

When he was done giving his full attention to savoring the struggles and had licked away the remnants of flavor, he let a piece of his mind tune into the human’s pleas.

Jack was attempting to bargain for his life.

“I don’t know if you realized this; but destroying a magical relic under study by a royal wizard with a taste for smallfolk was very very stupid.” Yonah informed his guest, “I guess I got a treat out of it. Though one little snack, no matter how delicious, cannot equal the loss of knowledge and history”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!!” Jack insisted.

“Gods your pathetic! And you’re wasting your precious air,” Yonah rubbed at his stomach and sighed with delight as Jack protested.

He ignored all subsequent remarks, responding only with pats to his belly or pressing in his fingers.

Until Jack’s voice cracked. “PLEAAESE!!! IT’S STARTING TO HURT! MISTER WIZARD I BEG OF YOU! DON’T DO THIS!”

Yonah gave Jack a very forceful shove, “I really should though. Besides ruining priceless research, you tasted so good, and fill my belly so perfectly.”

Jack cried. It was about time. thieves normally broke down long before now. And Yonah knew it was time to get him out.

“But I’m not.”

Jack stopped crying.

—-

Before he could fully register the statement the angry walls convulsed around him, his leg burned and stabbed his brain with white hot pain as the rest of his skin stung and itches horribly. The air which was soon to be depleted for oxygen was now forced out, followed by him!

The retching sounds of the giant were muffled but carried so much hope and relief. Even as he fell onto the rough wooden desk, the fresh air and lack of impending death was as sweet as fresh honey.

He didn’t care that he was picked up again for he was carried to the window.

“Thank you!” he was still crying. “Thank you - for sparing me!”

That made the giant angry again

“I almost didn’t!” spat the Giant, “All that work WORTHLESS! THANKS TO YOU! And now I get to tell King Ben that his relic got broken, and I let the one who did it get away! Do not forget my kindness today for you do not deserve it!”

The Giant leaned in close and growled hot air over me.

“Now, Get out of my sight before I change my mind, Little tasty one.”

Aching, burning, still bleeding, He descended the vines and without a look back, gave himself to the mercy of the Woods.

Which was considerable mercy today! It was only about 20 minutes of limp-running before he knew he was no longer in the magical, dangerous, Mystic Woods. It was safe now to find a stream and clean himself and most importantly his wound.

Once that was done it was time to get home. Sure he had no treasure but he was lucky enough to get away with his life!

It was nightfall when he got to the cottage at the edge of town, and his mother burst through the door followed by his little sister.

“JAKE! Where have you been!!! Gods around what happened to you!”

Jake’s skin was almost as red as his hair.

“Sunburn” he said, voice hoarse.

—-

This was possibly the stupidest thing he had EVER done.

The guilt over the last week had gotten so bad it was making Jake sick.

He had not only failed to steal from a giant to feed his family, he had broken something important! Something valuable! He had really made that giant mad. And if the Giant was to be believed, he, Jake, got off easy. It was the giant who would feel the wrath of the Mystic King.

He had to do something. It was a long shot, but maybe he could fix the device!

All he had to do was sneak back into the tower to examine it, somehow make money for parts, learn how to make the parts, and get tools to make and implement them… and learn magic to Enchant the gems and metal. Oh and money for the gems too…

This would involve many more trips to that tower. Eventually he should be able to avoid the giant. And hopefully he wouldn’t be eaten if caught.

Stupid. Immesurably stupid.

He was caught.

Not before finding the device. Downstairs in a storage room in a crate. Not before making a few notes. He had come prepared with pen and parchment. Not before finding some loose gems and coins. Exactly what he needed to buy parts! He had everything he needed, and he could leave!

That was when he was found and once again swallowed whole.

“Please!!! Don’t kill me!!!” He begged, even though knew that this was a possible outcome he was not ok with dying! Being trapped in the giant’s gut was just as bad as the first time!! Just as slimy, just as confining, just as…

Huh!?

For some reason the giant spat him back out again!

Jake was so stunned It wasn’t until he was back in the forest that he realized the Giant hadn’t recognized him.

Then he realized he was clutching something in his hands. Something he had not brought with him. The giant had taken the treasure Jake found, but had given him a purse of gold coins!

WHAT THE FUCK? Jake couldn’t begin to imagine why.

Fortunately, the giant had not taken his notes!

Unfortunately the notes were ruined by stomach fluids. Shit. Well. He would wait at least a week or two before going back.

That depended on if-when he could get a waterproof folder. If by two weeks he could he would simply hide the notes in the tower and get them later. Somehow.

It only took him a week, but he wanted to plan this out, so it was a week and 4 days before he returned to the tower.

Thankfully the money the giant had given him meant he didn’t need to do odd jobs to help put food on the table! And there was a reasonable amount left so even if he failed… well. He wouldn’t fail!

—

This was the third thief in a MONTH!

Though Yonah wasn’t really ready to complain or get suspicious just yet. If life wanted to send him treats who was he to question it?

A half-giant who loved the taste of smallfolk, thats who. Not one to question it at all. And this human was delicious! He spent a while licking the human before even putting him in his mouth, where he continued to run his tongue over Jack’s body.

This one had given him a good chase! He was impressed. That And for tasting so good and the fantastic internal massage, he decided to give this Jack a nicer reward.

He liked that this one hadn’t screamed the entire time. That hurt his sensitive giant ears. Instead he swore and demanded to be let go. Such gumption! Ahhhh whatever this Jack was doing, he was stretching out his stomach to the max and it felt so good!

He told Jack this and Jack snarled back at him.

—-

Well, Jake guessed that third time wasn’t the charm! He was caught AGAIN! No way he was going to be lucky a third time and- holy shit!

For the third time the giant hacked him out, sparing his life.

He rolled over to look up at the happy to be angry giant wiping the spittle from his goatee. He was on the desk in the Workshop, the giant had eaten him downstairs in the kitchen, which connected to the storage room.

“Thank you- mister- I don’t think I-

“The name’s Yonah, and you better be welcome. Do you know how awful it is to spit up a human! Fucking sucks! Anyways, thanks for the little diversion from my work, I would appreciate it if you kindly fucked off.”

Once again the giant tossed him a coin purse! This one heavier than the last! Also did the giant. Yonah,  still not recognize him?! The attitude of the giant was not the same as either other times.

The first time he had been furious. Understandable. But the second time it felt like something practiced.

And this time he seemed a bit more playful. Like a cat with a mouse, but had gotten bored and dropped the act once he was done playing. Maybe because Jake was getting better at prolonging capture.

Oh well. It had worked out in the end. He had notes and more importantly he had MONEY! Money to buy tools and parts and training!

He ran home and bought an apprenticeship with a local metallurgist. Soon to be 19 was a bit old to start, but the Master in town quickly changed his tune when presented with Jake’s diagrams of the device. And the gold coins.

It was time to get learning.

—-

Gods there was no avoiding this damn wizard!

This was what? The sixth time he’d visited Yonah? Jake kept returning every two weeks or so, and while he kind of enjoyed the little game (which the giant didn’t know he was a player in), getting eaten was never fun.

Jake had decided after the fourth time he would see how long it would take for the giant to remember him. Part of him hoped it would never happen and he would get to waltz into the tower one day, finish his work, and announce his presence and what he had done.

Also after the fourth time swallowed and spat up, Jake didn’t think this giant was actually as man-eating as he claimed in all the villainous declarations. For whatever reason, Yonah never followed through on his threat.

The track record was now 6 for 6. If Yonah was a killer it was either so infrequent or Jake was a statistical anomaly.

Still, Jake tried a new plan to get away without being found, or at least a way to win the chase game. None of his strategies had been successful.

Just to play along Jake made sure to scream and struggled as if he still believed he was going to die.

At least he was never found until he was trying to sneak out. It would ruin the game if he was caught with all of his notes and supplies! Or if the parts he brought were ruined by stomach fluids.

However, Jake nearly fucked it all up on the sixth visit. He just didn’t have the energy to continue fighting the giant from the inside so after a minute he relaxed. He’d be let out soon and he wanted to catch his breath.

That was a mistake.

“HEY!” The voice of the wizard shook him, physically prodding at him. “You better not be dead! I aint done with you!”

Ok. Now this was different. Normally Yonah taunted him with his “inevitable” demise. He never checked in on him. And that was what Yonah was doing. The phrasing was an attempt at malice but to the not-scared-out-of-his-mind-Jake, Yonah failed to hide the genuine concern. He wondered what could have brought this mood. Maybe he should ask!

Then he remembered he was pretending to never have been through this.

—-

The abrupt change from pleasant thrashing to no movement at all brought Yonah out of his light torpor. He hoped Jack hadn’t fainted, he had not yet recovered enough to spit the human back out. An unconscious human could easily drown… Yonah was reasonably aware of how much fluid accumulated while his victims sat waiting to be released.

Yonah relaxed when Jack moved again, retaliating against his fingers which pressed into his gut.

“NOT YET. I was simply er planning my next move. I will get out of here.”

Where had all this spunk come from? The kicks and punches were much stronger than before. The Jack’s confidence was a bit worrying, Yonah was sure he had disarmed Jack properly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, Not much you can do against my stomach.”

It gurgled a bit and Yonah smiled, “I think it likes you.”

“Well... I hate it.”

“Awwww come on now. You fit so perfectly in it, like you were made for each other.”

There was no response so Yonah figured it was time to wrap it up. “Such a shame to break up the happy couple.”

——

If Jake had to he honest, even if the stomach would eventually kill him, getting spit back up was the worst part. Fluids came with him and the pressure was (for some gods awful reason) much greater than when being swallowed.

Once he was spat out Jake took stock of his surroundings. Still in the kitchen, on the table. His things were scattered about. He gathered his things, mocking panic. Then he turned to see the giant studying him. Had he done something to give away his rouse?

“Why… why did you let me go?” Jake asked in his best ‘oh fuck please don’t kill me for asking’ voice.

Yonah licked his lips and Jake didn’t have to fake a cringing response.

“Dunno. Maybe I’m not feeling it today. Maybe you just seemed so sad I would feel bad if you met your end in me.” The giant sighed and the hot breath dried the sticky fluids. Yech! “I don’t much like killing the poor ones who are obviously being forced by their shitty parents to risk becoming my meal trying to earn one for themselves. Unless, that’s not your situation. I can just finish the job, little one. ”

Wow. Did he really exude that much patheticness? But Jake didn’t let Yonah see his drop in self esteem. Instead he brightened.

“No no. I’m grateful.  Uh- I’ll get out of your hair now,”

“Please do.” Yonah sat there as Jack climbed down the table and made his way to the stairs.

A grumble came from behind him. Then footsteps. A moment later Yonah had scooped him up, carrying him to the window in record time. “I wasn’t gonna watch you climb stairs for 15 minutes.”

Then the Giant’s eyes flashed, very briefly.

“Wait here, I forgot something.”

He ran back downstairs.

Jake sat down, looking out the window. He had never lingered in the garden, and it was a stunning sight from above. Organized in patterns and colors, the meticulously kept plants flourished under the Giant’s care.

“Still here?”

Jake spun around as Yonah returned.

“Why… wouldn’t I?”

“Most flee at the first chance they get.”

“But you told me- I didn’t think it smart to disobey you,” Which for anyone else would have been the truth. Jake on the other hand hadn’t even considered running.

Yonah accepted this reasoning, “well, be glad you stayed. here, for your trouble.”

Ah! Right, the gold. Jake caught the purse that Yonah tossed towards him. He bowed before climbing down.

—-

It just wasn’t fucking worth it was it.

If he managed to avoid capture he would have to get out of the tower himself! And he would have to find another source of funds for the project. Yes, he knew where Yonah kept some coin and unEnchanted jewels, of course he had tried that a few times. Each time it was during that attempt when he was discovered.

It wasn’t worth genuinely trying to escape.

It was just so much easier to get caught, get eaten, get spit up, and be given money. And Yonah would carry him back upstairs! Either while still in his stomach or afterwards. Regardless, it was considerably less work for Jake.

So by the seventh visit, He let Yonah catch him.

But there was another reason.

He finally had the know-how to start repairing the device. Up until now he was only examining it.

In addition to having to make fresh pieces on site, which was difficult and took forever, The magic of this thing was gods fucking bananas!  Connecting certain pieces would induce visions, which he had to resist and ride out. Some were more convincing than others, that he forgot where he was and nearly got lost in the fiction.

This had occurred while picking it apart, but unless he touched the gems the side effects were much less intense. It had made taking a gem back for study impossible. He wasn’t very magical, no one in his village was. That was a bridge he would eventually cross. Shaping the metal pieces didn’t take magic. Not much at least. Nothing too difficult to learn, and Jake had applied himself rigorously.

To maximize his time he snuck into to tower in the morning and planned to “sneak” out at night. Rather than just a few hours later. With all of the components and materials he carried with him, he couldn't bring much food, and stealing any risked early discovery!

All of this left him exhausted.

He should really plan better.

This is what he realized the ninth visit, when he passed out in the crate.

And woke up to The now familiar but no less alarming:

FEE FI FO FUM, I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE HUMAN KIND, IT MATTERS NOT THE THINGS YOU STOLE, I’LL CAPTURE YOU AND WILL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE

SHIT! Time to go! And no time to gather his notes. He had enough familiarity to know what to bring next time. He would definitely bring supplies and just leave it here, that would make things much easier!

But that was next time, he was dealing with the big bad giant now.

Fuck. he was so tired. Even the adrenaline from Yonah’s shout he was barely keeping his eyes open. His brain felt so sour and heavy with sleep And lists And diagrams and figures and plans.

Better to get it over with.

His sleepy brain ran him right into Yonah’s hands. Sturdy, rough yet plush, warm hands. No wait he’s supposed to be scared! The terror he managed to muster was very half-hearted. He just flopped over the fingers.

“Ah- no- dont eat me-”

—-

That sounded sarcastic. Why had this Jack given up so easily. Did he have a deathwish? He hated those types. Admittedly, none of them really wanted to die once they spent a few minutes in his stomach. However it was not a constructive way to dissuade suicidal aspiration, and he wasn’t in a position to get them help afterwards.

This Jack didn’t seem suicidal. He seemed, unphased. Yonah brought him to his face. Jack just closed his eyes and breathed softly. Or maybe he was just sleepy.

Yonah flicked him gently in the face “Hey! Don’t fall asleep, Im eating you!”

“Wha-?” Jack sputtered awake.

That was enough for Yonah, he just wanted to make sure Jack hadn’t fainted. With great enthusiasm he proceeded to eat the human. A bit disappointed by Jack’s performance; no struggle at all! Yonah decided that the proper punishment was to take his time tasting Jack.  

And this one tasted pretty damn good. Though something nagged at him. It was impossible to give that any attention as he swallowed the thief, concentrating on the suffocating pain. Once the thief was out of his throat and in his stomach it hit him.

It took a few seconds for him to process it and his mind reeled, his heart pounded.

“You!! You rotten- you little shit, I recognize your taste!”

The thief was still not struggling. As far as Yonah could tell, he moved around until he was comfortable. THE NERVE!

“Should I be concerned you didn’t recognize my face?”

Yonah ignored the question. He was so furious!

“I thought I made it clear that my generosity and mercy is a one time thing!” He poked Jack so hard that Jack yelped.

“Are you going to digest me! Please, I-”

“No! No…” Yonah rubbed at panicking human in his stomach, “I’m not going to kill you.”

Blinking away the rage-distortion he made his way to the living room. He did his best to stomp down the stairs, and flopped down forcefully into his armchair. If only he wasn’t so upset, he couldn’t fully appreciate Jack’s terror at being tossed about .

“How many times?” He looked down as his stomach as if to see Jack speaking. There was some movement as Jack thought about the answer.

“Um, including this time, 9.”

“NINE TIMES!” Yonah bellowed. His hair started to smoke and his glasses fogged up.

There had been 11 thieves in the last 3 months when it’s usually once or twice a month. Thrice if the gods found him lucky and deserving. He had been worried that a rumor had been spread of a giant who gave thieves money after eating them. But no, it was really three thieves. At least that was a relief. Not that it was good that one HAD figured out he was merciful more often than not.

“This scam stops now! I’m not giving you anymore money!” He poked at his stomach and Jack kicked back at him. “And I’d better not see your face around here again!”

-[I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT AT THIS PART I STOPPED LIMITING/SWITCHING THE POV! It’s just both now!!!] -

“I- I wasn’t scamming you,�� Jake insisted. He was starting to get concerned about how long he had been in the wizard’s stomach. Was it normally so hot? He should be sweating but it was so wet and slimy he couldn’t be sure.

“Really?” Yonah didn’t believe him, and had no reason to, “Because it seems like you figured to use me like some weird benefactor who gives out money to people I eat!”

Oh, so he does this for everyone. Where did he get the money? Jake thought. Surely this wasn’t a sustainable system, just handing bags of gold to thieves!

“I’m not as clever as you think. I’m not even here for money. ”

“Then why the fuck did you keep breaking into my tower!?”

He really wanted to get out soon. It was sweltering and his skin was itching something fierce. At least he wasn’t wanting for air. Usually by this time he had worked himself up pretending to be scared, using up precious oxygen. Still, best not to waste breath.

“The device, I don’t know what it is. But I broke it my first time here. YAH.”

Yonah stood up and stormed to the storage closet. At least that was on the same floor.

“If you’ve been messing with my shit-!” he growled as he pulled out the crate, knelt beside it, and, using his eyes, illuminated the contents.

The device was still there, not surprising, it was large. But it was all there. As far as he could tell, Jack had not been slowly taking pieces of it. And he would have noticed if that was the case. He would have found scrap metal and magic crystals on Jack, right? He couldn’t recall any thieves with more than a pouch of random coins and a few normal gems.

What halted his tirade was everything else.

Strewn around the crate were pieces of the device, what could only be a bunch of odd looking tools, and a small platform that one could use as a workbench. Pieces of parchment were everywhere, on the bench, the bottom of the crate, and tacked on the sides! He couldn’t see the details of the scribbles, his vision was too distorted by his now dwindling rage. However, it was obvious what Jake had been up to.

“You… You’ve been sneaking in to fix it?” He let out a heavy painful breath.

Jake scrambled to his knees, pounding at the front of the stomach.

“Yeah... I felt kinda bad so- YIPE.”

Careful to not spit Jack up and into the device he caught the human in his hands. Jack recovered quickly and looked Yonah in the eyes. Blinking in the light, Jack smiled nervously at him.  

“You must be the dumbest thief i’ve ever eaten.”

Jake didn’t know how to take that. And didn’t have much chance to respond as the Giant stood up and took him back to the kitchen. Jake practically jumped out of Yonah’s hands once Yonah had filled the sink with warm water.

He’d never gotten a chance to clean off before leaving! It felt so good to be rid of the stinking And previously stinging fluids. He could have done without the giant watching him like one would watch a pet mouse groom.

“So,” Jake said, once he was clean and being dried off in a rough towel, “Why am I so dumb?”

It was hard for Jake to register Yonah’s answer as the Giant was very handsy with the towel. It wasn’t necessary for the giant to do this.. jake could try himself off… but he wasn’t about to protest. As nice as the Giant was...

“I’ve caught you each time…” he said, gently rubbing The Jack’s hair with a section of cloth,  “ATE you each time!” He pressed the towel into Jack’s back, patting him dry, “and you weren’t even stealing anything! I’m just... Why did you put up with it?”  He put his arms on the counter and head in his arms, face to face with Jack.

Before Jake could answer Yonah blew a stream of foul smelling hot air to finish the job. He waited for Jake to check himself over and calm his hair.

“I kinda liked the idea of it being a surprise,” Jake shrugged, “And you seemed to like chasing me around, and I know you like eating me.”

It was Yonah’s turn to chuckle uncomfortably, he couldn’t deny he definitely liked both of those things. “But… weren’t you scared that I might not let you go? Or that I might just mess up and hurt you?”

“Sure I was, but after the third time you… spit me up… I figured that was just par for the course and you seemed to know what you were doing; it wasn’t worth the effort to avoid it.”

“So you were letting me catch you! I knew it!”

“Yeah but just because I didn’t… didnt want tooooooahhhhh…. climb up the stairs,” said Jake before yawning so wide his jaw popped.

“Tired?”

“Been here all…. *yawn* all day, I snuck in at dawn.”

That… that was a long time. No wonder the kid was tired! Not just tired, if he’d been here since morning…

“You must be starving!”

Jake blinked, “I… brought some food.”

Yonah picked up the human, placed him on his shoulder, and wheeled around to gesture at the kitchen, and then opened the door to the pantry. It had a decent stock of food,“one of the perks of being a giant is I always have plenty to share with visiting smallfolk!”

He walked to the back of the pantry and pressed his hand on the wall.

Then there wasn’t a wall. Or there was but it was made of silver mist.

“Oh” Jack gasped, and Yonah quickly snatched him into his hands.

His warm hands. Held against the wizard’s warm chest. Oh. It was… soft, in the embrace. Kinda like the wizard’s insides but way less deadly. Or rather, more controlled. The wizard’s massive hands could snap him in half, but that was up to the wizard. His stomach would punish you for staying there too long unless he intervened, the hands… Jake could stay forever in these hands.

And good thing too! The room they were in was COLD. And dark. Yonah’s eyes produced a warm glow that failed to pierce the darkness.

Until he purposefully set them ablaze making them into two beams of bright orange torchlight. Projecting through the wizard’s glasses.

The room was full of jars! Just jars upon jars, and in one corner a small arrangement of meats.

Yonah picked out one of the jars. A rather small one, but still bigger than Jake.

“I made this lamb stew last week, gotta eat it soon or it will go bad, do you like lamb stew?” He turned his eyes on the human who shielded his eyes from the light.

“Uh, Yes.”

He still clung to Yonah’s hands as they left the cold storage, the mist turning back to stone. And then left the pantry.

Even out of the cold, Jake was perfectly content to remain held by the giant. He curled up into the elbow, leaning into the pillow-like chest. And fell asleep immediately.

Yonah looked down in surprise as the human snuggled up to him. Just like… just like his friends did. Jack was that comfortable with him? He supposed after being eaten 9 times, this Jack felt pretty safe around him. Good. He liked that.

Since he was just reheating stew he didn’t need two hands. He could get out a pot, light the stove, he had to use magic to open the jar but that was the only instance. Ok he lit the fire with a snap of his fingers, but he always did that! Oh, and a simple charm on a Spoon to stir the pot.

With one free hand he was able to set the table. Both his set and the human sized set, which included a second table (and chair) placed upon his.

“Hey, little one,” Yonah cooed, jostling his arm slightly. The human gasped from his snooze. For a moment Jack looked fearful, as if he forgot what had happened, until he looked into the bark brown eyes of the handsome half-giant, and the scent of stewed meat met his nostrils.

“You can continue to sleep after dinner,” Yonah said, setting the human on the table, indicating the smaller place setting.

The stew was more vegetables and grain than lamb, but he supposed getting enough meat to feed a Giant wasn’t easy. It was very spicy but Jake liked it a lot! He still had to take a drink of  The incredibly sweet wine Yonah had served after nearly every bite.

By the time he had finished he wasn’t sure he was still awake. Yonah, who drank most of the wine, looked tired too.

Wordlessly Yonah picked him up, and Jake fell into his hands. Asleep before they even reached the bedroom.

If Yonah hadn’t had the alcohol he might have prepared a bed for Jack. However he did have alcohol so Yonah quickly changed into a nightgown and got into bed. He placed the human by his face, on his pillow, and wrapped an arm protectively around the small form. Jack’s scent permeated his senses but he resisted licking the human by falling asleep a few seconds later.

—

Jake awoke in an unfamiliar place. He awoke next to a giant’s face! He awoke inside a giant’s embrace!

The giant! He. He had slept… in his arms!? Like some kind of doll. Jake wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he knew he felt rejuvenated. That had been the best night’s sleep he’d had in quite a while. The Giant was certainly much less scary when he wasn’t pretending to kill him, even if his face was pressed into Jake’s side. The facial hair was kinda itchy, but Jake didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to move!

Even though he wasn’t tired he was so comfortable, that and he definitely didn’t want to wake the giant up. He was kinda trapped under the giant’s rather prodigious nose. He couldn’t hope to get out of this hold without waking Yonah up.

That would certainly earn him another trip down into Yonah’s stomach. Jake was certain Yonah would spit him up, but getting eaten twice in less than 25 hours did not appeal to him.

So he lay there.

Thankfully it wasn’t long before the giant started to wake. Jake scrambled out of his arms and stood wobbling on the uneven bedspread.

He watched the giant stretch and yawn, mouth stretching even wider than when he’d eaten Jake.

“Oh fuck,” the Giant said as he put on his glasses, “I meant to make you a bed.”

“It’s alright” Jake assured him, “I slept great.”

Now it was Jakes to turn observe as Yonah magically swapped his nightgown for fresh set of robes. Just as brightly colored and garishly patterned as the other 9 outfits Jake had seen.

Yonah noticed Jake watching. “I’m not going to just change in front of you!” He half squat by his bed, hands on his knees.

“I don’t know if you had plans today, I was going to make breakfast.”

Jake had to be at the metallurgist’s an hour past sunrise.

“I just gotta be home by sundown. If I’m missing for two nights my mom will start to worry.”

He stepped onto Yonah’s outstretched palm.

After breakfast Yonah took Jake and the crate with the device to the Workshop. He cleared off his spare bench and carefully laid out the device and the broken pieces. Jake took out all of notes which Yonah wanted to take a look at under his magnifying glass.

“For 3 months work starting from absolutely nothing, this is impressive!”

“What do you mean?”

Yonah looked down at Jake.

“I mean, Jack, that for someone who had never worked with mechanical contraptions let alone magical ones until a few months ago, you actually started to make little progress on this in an incredibly short amount of time!”

“I used the money you’ve been giving me to train with a metallurgist…” Jake was a bit annoyed that he made so little progress but he was distracted by something else the giant had said.

“Did you just call me ‘Jack?’”

“That’s your name isn’t it?”

“I never told you my name,”

“Thieves are always named Jack.” Yonah said as if it were some universal truth.

“Well my name is Jake, uh, Silverman” He held out his hand.

“Silverman, and you have a talent for metal work?” The wizard laughed.

“Yonah, HaEsh,” Yonah took the hand in a finger and thumb.

“I know, you told me,”

“Did I?”

“Not your last name.” Jake held onto Yonah’s finger, “You’re laughing at mine but yours is The Fire. A bit on the nose for someone with fire powers.”

“Touché.” Yonah freed his finger by poking Jake’s middle.

“Now that I am aware of your little project it’s sure to go much quicker, much smoother, and actually get finished” he said looking at the notes again.

It took Jake nearly a minute to process.

“Finish? You… want to work with me?”

Yonah nodded but didn’t look at him. “I’m not so good with detailed tinkering. If you don’t continue, it’s likely The Machine would just end up sitting here long after I, and whoever takes over after me, and whoever comes after them, are long dead.”

Now he looked at Jake again, his eyes flashed for a second, “And you do want to fix your mistake, right?”

“Y-yes... I do!”

Yonah nodded, “Without my help you never would have, and with it you won't die in the process.”

“Die?” Jake’s heart skipped a beat, “would you have-“

Yonah gave him a strange look as Jake finished “killed me…”

The giant smiled, showing off his rather large canine teeth. For all Yonah looked human, there were a few easily missed giantfolk-ish traits.

“Probably not,” he started examining the device itself, “but your metallurgist master is not  a magician are they?”

Jake looked at his feet, “No.”

“Would have been a fun mystery for me when I found your body, though not so difficult as long as your notes were intact…”

Yonah turned to Jake with a stern teacher stare.

“This thing is dangerous and powerful, you’re lucky you’re still in one piece as it is. Or you’re a natural artificer,” Yonah said, giving all of his attention to Jake.

“An artificer?” Jake had never heard of such a thing.

“A specialist who works with magical items,” Yonah explained.

Jake quite liked that. Silverman the Artificer! Had a nice ring to it.

“So,” Yonah said, “Can I expect to see you again soon?”

———

“And that’s how we became friends!”

Yonah concluded.

“You forgot to add that I am an artificer now.” Jake added, “I travel around the world in search of artifacts to study, and I make my own. I’m Yonah’s supplier of precious metals and gems.”

Sophia had listened with rapt attention as Yonah and Jake told the story. She and Jake were now sitting on Yonah’s chest as he lay on his couch in the living room. She had resisted asking asking questions until the end. Now she leaned back against Yonah’s left hand and tried to look as philosophical as she could.

“Did you finish fixing the device?”

Jake’s pale face turned an amusing shade of red.

“I’m actually still searching for parts, it’s why I’m an explorer now.”

“Probably for the best,” Yonah said, using his right hand to stroke’s Jake back, “We need to know more about it first.”

“You mean it’s HERE IN THE TOWER STILL!”

“Of course it is,” Yonah poked her shoulder, “this is still the most secure place. I just moved it to.”

“No, don’t tell me,” She knew exactly how much self control she had and it wasn’t enough to stop her from doing something stupid. “I don’t want to know,” she lied.

“How often do you make it out here?” Sophia asked, “I’ve been here for nearly a year!”

Not that Yonah didn’t have a tendency to not tell her shit about his life. He seemed to like having her discover pieces of his social network one at a time.

“I used to aim for once a month, but with all my traveling it’s been whenever I can for a few years now. Also I called on the mirror many times! He mentioned you, I’m really surprised he didn’t tell you about me.”

“I’m not, Yonah likes to keep me out of the loop,” Sophia huffed, “regardless, on these, visits, he… he eats you… every time?” time to get to the important stuff, like how Yonah has a secret friend snack that he neglected to mention!

“Pretty much. Back when working on the machine I was here a few days a week and sometimes we would play games of chase. If he caught me he would eat me, and he always wins. But as my visits became less frequent I started sneaking back in and letting him find me. It’s just our thing now.” he winked at Yonah who’s face had slowly been turning crimson. Sophia giggled.

Jake sighed, recalling the last five years.

“I know it’s stupid, but I kinda like it. I kinda missed it,” Jake mused, “Sure it’s stupidly dangerous, it’s a giant’s stomach after all. But for the few minutes im there it’s nice. Very warm, soft padding…”

“If you’re trying to suggest I let him eat me,” Sophia glowered with a smile up at Yonah, “he does, all the time.”

Jake’s eyes didn’t widen but his they did spark as his brows raised with interest, “Does he now? He risks the life of the princess he is sworn to protect?”

“No, he risks your life,” she said with pride, and climbed up to Yonah’s shoulder. He turned his face to peck her side and give her a little lick, “This bastard cursed me so I can’t die when he eats me.”

“It’s much more generally beneficial than that!” Yonah protested. “I engineered a partial curse that allows her transform into indestructible glass for four hours. There’s plenty of situations where that can save your Royal Behind. Like the attack on Ilana’s wedding, or when you wandered off into the forest and attacked by those suspiciously normal wolves!”

“Sure, sure” she waved away his words, “but you still did it so you could eat me,” Sophia sat down and let him kiss her face but put her arm out as he went for a second taste. She didn’t want to wash her hair a second time today.

“Wow, can he do that to me?”

He could, but after he explained the process Jake decided he didn’t want to waste all that money. And Yonah agreed, so far there had been no problems with getting Jake spat out safely for years. There was no reason to add extra protection, it would only be if Jake wanted his stays in Yonah’s stomach to last longer than five minutes.

While Jake had planned to show Yonah his latest finds, after telling the story and making a new friend, he could wait. He and Sophia spent the next hour chatting as Yonah prepared dinner. Yonah always prepared something fresh and at least slightly new when Jake popped in.

Sophia found that Jake wasn’t just Yonah’s supplier. Because of his connection to Yonah, Jake dealt with many of her father’s mages and Yonah’s friends. He quickly became in-demand. But he always saved the best stuff for Yonah to look at before any other buyers.

Most of the time Yonah didn’t even pay Jake.Jake may be good at working with magical items and not exploding, and had learned a decent amount of magic, but he couldn’t hope to achieve Yonah’s level of skill or power. So Yonah paid in enchantments and spelled gems which Jake incorporated into his crafts.

Sometimes Jake would stay for a week or more depending on the spells he needed. And after being away for a year they had a lot of work to do.

“This sounds like the perfect time to teach me about magic gems!”

Sophia told Yonah over dinner.

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that. You’ve only just gotten a handle on basic enchantments,” Yonah said.

Sophia pouted.

“It can’t hurt, I have some simple spells I need put into some crystals,” Jake suggested and Yonah shot him a fiery glare. Jake was unphased, “what else is she to do? This will be several hours a day.”

“Maybe she can just sit in my stomach?” Yonah chose that moment to take a large bite of bread and swallow very loudly.

“Oh, Yonah, you wouldn’t,” Jake looked from Yonah to Sophia, but there was no actually animosity between the two. Sophia just rolled her eyes.

“He’d like to, I’m sure. You’ve known him for years, you know he’s a dumbass glutton. But he also knows I won’t stand for it.”

Yonah grinned, then to Jake, “Instructing her while we work will take time. How long can you stay?”

“I am able to stay as long as necessary.” Jake smiled warmly, “I’ve been gone for so long on work, this will be like a vacation.

“A vacation where you do more work?” Sophia asked, but Jake and Yonah laughed.

—-

After dinner, Jake took a bath while Yonah and Sophia cleaned up. She was practicing cleaning spells on dirty dishes. Or rather, spells that could be used for cleaning. Like create and manipulate water, leveraging large objects. Etc. She was… pretty terrible at it. She always broke a few things. No big deal with repair spells on hand.

Yonah was very patient with her. He knew that it was relatively easy for the mind to use magic to pick things up that hey body could normally. Because one knew how it should feel to pick such things up. Anything larger was extremely difficult. It took a lot of practice.

It made doing the dishes take forever. And Sophia got nervous when Jake got back. Not so used to having someone else watch her fuck up.

“So what will we be looking at tomorrow?” Sophia asked Jake as they all settled into bed.

For the first night at least, they were all sleeping in the same bed, tucked under Yonah’s arms against his chest. Though Jake had marveled at Sophia’s grand bird cage bedroom with its padded hammock bed.

“Oh. Something very special. I found it buried in the infinity dunes of the wondrous desert, a snake charm.”

“Infinity dunes! No wonder you were gone for a year!”

“Yeah, see, only a few weeks had passed for me, but months had gone by outside. Anyways. Snake. Pendant. It has impressively large emerald eyes. I wish I had found more treasures.”

“All those weeks/months and all you found was one charm?”

“Yeah, though I acquired many unique items in the various cities through trade...”

They continued back and forth for a few minutes before Yonah grumbled at them.

“I thought we were going to sleep” he didn’t open his eyes, but a very dim orange light escaped between his eyelids.

“Oh but Jake is telling me all about his travels! I’m guessing he told you all of this over your secret mirror chats. But I wasn’t privy to those!”

Yonah hugged them both tighter to him.

“But I am privy to your conversations whether I want to be or not.” Sometimes sensitive ears were a curse.

“But-“ Sophia wanted to stay up!

“Do I have to eat you to separate you two? Because I will.” He ran his fingers down Sophia’s back. Perfectly positioned to snatch her up no problem.

“I can still talk to him if you do!” Sophia countered. and Jake could sense her wicked smile. “You aren’t that fat!”

Yonah’s chest rose and fell with great vibrations as he groaned at the prospect. To the two humans it was 30 second massage. Intensely soothing.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” Jake yawned, getting comfortable against the wizard’s chest. Sophia did the same but punched Yonah a few times for good luck.

And they slept.

[FIN]

[Thanks for reading! please reblog! for more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/+mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’ on my blog! For thief stories only search “MW Thieves”]

[ariahearthockey]

Love Me, If You Will - Chapter 6

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

_/_/_/_/

Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Tags: 2017 NHL Playoffs, Concussion, Memory Loss, Medical Inaccuracies, Unexplained Medical Conditions, Alternate Reality, Time Travel (sort of), Pining, Fluff, Porn With Feelings, Happy Ending (sort of)

Soundtrack: Dancing On My Own - Calum Scott

_/_/_/_/

Chapter 6

As days turn to weeks, the line between his memory and his reality has began to blur into one big dream. He has played every game after missing one, and he played them with the same tenacity just as before. Game five and six with the Caps were brutal, and even though he already knew, it still didn't take the sting out when they lost. However, the sting kind of faded away when Flower shut the front door in game seven and led them to the East Conference final.

It wasn't like Sidney was surprised by it or anything, because it was already in his head. He kept them mostly to himself though and only hinted vaguely when Geno was curious enough to ask. Sometimes it felt like he was cheating, but no matter how much he thought he knew, he wasn't capable to change anything that happened on the ice. So, in a way it felt like he was just a spectator reliving the playoff for the second time.

At the same time, something new and not hockey related is also happening in his life. It is exciting as much as it is frustrating, but he has never felt more alive. Before all these madness started, he has sometimes allowed himself to fantasize about having a family of his own. White picket fence, a golden retriever named 'Pucky' and a bunch of kids whom he can't get enough of. But as crazy and demanding as his career is, it all seemed pretty out of reach, even when the lack of someone who wants to have all of that with him doesn't put a damper on things.

But it is funny how the universe works sometimes. Somehow he finds himself living in the ultimate fantasy without remembering how he got there.

For one, he has the sweetest little girl that has him wrapped around her little finger the first time they spoke. It was during one of their off days when they called Sidney's parents, whom were temporarily taking care of the little one during the post season. He recalls being so damn nervous that he kept zoning out on what his mother was saying, and strained his ear to listen to the small voice that was mumbling adorably in the background. His mother let out a fond sigh before she finally placed the phone to her granddaughter's ear and urged her to speak.

No one can blame Sidney for wanting to make a good impression on his own daughter. He already feels guilty for not remembering her, and he doesn't want her to sense that something is wrong with him. So, understandingly, he over thinks about how he should act or what he should say to her just so he won't feel foreign to her as she would be to him, but as soon as he hears her squealing 'daddee, daddee!' quite excitedly in his ear, all his nerves are gone on an instant.

And then there is Geno, his husband of five years and fiancé a year before that and boyfriend of two years before that.

And Sidney has no idea what to make of Geno.

To sum it all up, Geno is everything and nothing Sidney has ever expected him to be. There is a side to Geno which Sidney is very well acquainted with—the side which racks up points on the ice like it is nothing, does some hasty dumb shit when he is provoked and comically yells back and forth with Phil when they get frustrated during game time. Sidney is awfully familiar with that side and he has no problem dealing with that.

However, he is woefully under prepared when the husband side of Geno comes up. For one, Geno is very touchy whenever Sidney is around. In other words, he loves to touch Sidney, like, a lot. It is not necessarily a bad thing in Sidney's opinion, if only those lingering touches are not becoming a teasing nuisance that is fucking driving him up the wall.

Sometimes when they are waiting in line to pay for their groceries, Geno would casually slides his hand into Sidney's back pocket and squeezes his ass lightly. And then there are a few occasions when they are driving, Geno would take Sidney's hand in his own, resting them on Geno's thigh before he starts to trace his calloused finger into Sidney's palm and the back of his hand. And one that is more intimate than the others is when Geno joins him in their bathroom, with him crowding Sidney from behind while Sidney is at the sink. Their gaze would connect in the mirror for a short, meaningful moment before Geno hooks his chin over Sidney's shoulder, and they would each brush their teeth in silence. All those little interactions seem innocent enough, and it may have been really nice if only they don't leave Sidney feeling hugely frustrated.

Ever since their almost-incident before game four, Sidney has been expecting Geno to jump him the first chance he gets. Those lingering touches seems promising at first, but it never advanced anything further than that, and it both baffles and infuriates Sidney to no end. Sidney is craving the intimacy that he had a brief taste of, his body is itching for it, but nothing is happening the way he wants to. He is yearning for the hard press of Geno's body on his and those hot, wet kisses that makes his knees go weak. He wants Geno to slam him against the wall and devour him like his last plate of piroshki. But the most he has gotten from Geno—other than those menacing touches—is a little peck here and there and some warm cuddling.

And when he wakes up one night to Geno pressed warmly against his back, he thinks the cock tease is finally coming to an end. Geno is gliding his fingers along Sidney's arm, so soft they almost tickle. The gesture is gentle and unhurried, like it is meant to lull someone back to sleep, but for the intimacy-starved Sidney, it is the most alluring things he has ever felt in weeks. He closes his eyes and surrenders himself into the sweet assault of Geno's touch, and lets out a shuddering breath when Geno plants a feather-light kiss onto the back of his neck. His dick twitches at that and he feels himself getting hotter by the second. And when Geno shifts to get more comfortable behind him, Sidney's throat goes dry. There is no mistaking the hard bulge poking at the small of his back, and it takes every ounce of Sidney's control to stay in absolute stillness, just so he won't startle away whatever that is going on between them.

And then Geno's hand gets more adventurous. Sidney waits with bated breath when the touch trickle from his biceps down to his side, and slowly dragging the warmth to the jut of his hip bone. Sidney's boxer briefs has been tugged low when he is sleeping and he has never been happier to know that Geno is taking full advantage of that. He leans back a little against Geno's chest, and spreads his thighs as subtly as he can manage, at the same time hoping for Geno to slip his hand towards where Sidney desperate needs him to. The anticipation is killing him, and he feels a little light-headed from the sheer amount of time he has held his breath. But then he relents, his body is charged with electricity when Geno starts drawing invisible patterns at the patch of skin very near to his crotch, separated only by the elastics of his sweats. He is miles deep in the cloud of his own pleasure, suffocatingly good before he feels it dissipating, and then gone completely.

He is immediately shocked back to earth and his eyes shoot wide. He counts the seconds before he feels the bed dip behind him, followed by the soft pitter-pattering on their hardwood floor and the click of the light switch. Sidney turns around to see lights coming from their ensuite bathroom, with the door slightly ajar. He tries to listen in from where he is, and it is pin-drop quiet for a moment before he hears a rustling sound followed by a light thud, and then the unmistakable sound of someone jerking off. His mind is immediately assaulted by the image of Geno touching himself. The moans are coming in low and throaty, and it comes in tandem with the image in Sidney's head, and all hell breaks loose.

Sidney springs up on the bed, mind reeling with his unimaginable predicament. Here he is, well and awake and horny as hell. His weeks of accumulated frustration is reaching its boiling point and it is bubbling over the brim. He doesn't think Geno is capable of being cruel like that, riling him up and then abandoning him to his own demise. Geno should know that he is a perfectly willing participant with a perfectly healthy libido, and it is ten levels of unacceptable for Geno to outright rob him of the attention that he deserves. And then Geno goes to take care of himself in the bathroom? No can do.

Sidney crosses the room in several big strides and swings the door wide open. He is all ready to let Geno know how upset he has been, ready to argue that he too has a perfectly functional pair of hands that can make Geno come just the same, if not more. However, he finds himself stuck in motion, his mind blank and there is not much he can do other than staring ahead with his jaw on the floor.

It feels like he is watching a scene out of his own personal wet dream. Geno is leaning over the sink, one hand perched on the marble top and the other a blur around his hardened dick. His chin rests against his flushed chest, totally lost in the chase of his own high, and Sidney swallows hard when Geno lets out a low, throaty groan. It is hypnotising and hot as fuck to see Geno pleasuring himself in quick, hard strokes, and Sidney can't help but presses the heel of his palm onto his own erection, tenting uncomfortably in his sweats.

He hears a guttural moan reverberates into the room before he registers it as his own, and Geno's eyes fly open in surprise. If he is embarrassed for getting caught jerking off on his own, it doesn't show in his face. He just halts his hand but makes no move to shield himself from Sidney whatsoever. Sidney ought to feel annoyed for the lack of scrambling or something of the sort, but he can't help but be more turned on by that confidence. Geno stares at Sidney with hazy, bedroom eyes, and gives his dick a few cursory strokes before he lets out a breath in a huff.

"Sid," Geno starts, his voice noticeably low and husky. "Sorry I'm wake you, I'm try to be quiet but," He continues a little sheepishly, but Sidney isn't paying a lot of attention to what Geno has to say, really. His eyes are stuck on the throbbing length in Geno's big hand, and it is reddened and slick with precome and looks so incredibly mouth-watering, he just want to drop onto his knees and just lick.

"I—I was already awake when you uh—when you were groping me." Sidney mutters with his eyes still locked on Geno's dick, and by the way his precome is dripping down the side, Sidney can tell that Geno is almost near the end if he hasn't interrupted earlier.

"Oh! I'm not know you awa—fuck, Sid. I'm sorry, I'm not mean to—" He tears his eyes away from Geno's dick when he hears Geno's rambling, trying to make sense of what he is saying. It takes a while though—since his mind is filled with nothing but lust at the moment—but he thinks he get what Geno is apologising for. He flicks his eyes back up and locks Geno in, before he takes a cautious, experimental step towards Geno.

"Why'd you leave, Geno?" He asks with another step forward. Seeing Geno being frazzled by his admission is making him feel braver.

"Fuck, I'm not plan to do. I'm think we just sleep, but Sid feel good, very pretty when sleep and I'm uh—"

"But why did you leave?" Sidney asks again, cutting Geno's rambling short. Geno looks at him with a confused daze on his face but it is quickly dissolved into something else. Sidney closes the remaining distance between them, until he is just a breath away from Geno.

"I—I'm not—"

"Geno," Sidney stops him again, his voice just short of a whisper. "Don't you want me?"

In that instance, Geno's demeanor changes entirely. His face crumbles in defeat, his eyes shut tight in a groan. And when he opens them again, they are looking at Sidney with so much want, it makes Sidney buckle under the weight of it.

The first touch of their lips together is more chaste that Sidney expects. It is tender and sweet, with soft press of lips and gentle swipes of tongue. But the tenderness escalates into something else quickly when Sidney opens his mouth in invitation, and Geno takes it without hesitation, deepening their kiss by thrusting his tongue pass Sidney's mouth. Sidney grabs Geno by the arms and pushes himself up on his tippy toes and gives his all into the kiss, sucking and licking and biting on Geno's lips. Sidney moans his delight when Geno slides his hand to his ass, the warmth from his palms seeping through the layers. Geno gives his ass a good hard knead before he smooths it towards the bottom and hauls Sidney up in a heave. Sidney lets out a surprised yelp and wraps his powerful thighs around Geno's waist. He pulls back to see Geno smirking at him (the gall of him!) but all humour is forgotten when Sidney clings himself tighter to Geno, and groans in unison when their hardened length press firmly together.

"Take me to bed, G." Sidney pants out against Geno's mouth, and grins when Geno complies without any question.

Sidney continues to kiss Geno and thoroughly enjoys the little punched out groan whenever he does something Geno likes, and it is not long before he is lowered onto the bed and he takes Geno with him without ever breaking their kiss. Geno is draped above him, his hips snugly in between Sidney's thighs and Sidney loves the weight of Geno pressing him into the bed.

"I'm miss you, Sid." Geno says as he comes up for breath, and ducks down to drop wet, opened-mouth kisses along his neck. "I'm miss you so much, baby."

Sidney's moan reverberates across their chests and he arches his back into a bow when Geno bites down hard near his pulse point. He curls his fingers into Geno's hair and tugs, feeling himself losing his mind quickly because Geno has started to rock his hips in a circular motion, grinding him into the bed.

"Hmm, Geno.."

Geno breaks away, and rears back just enough for him to bunch Sidney's shirt up and over his head.

"Fuck, baby. So pretty." Geno swears above him as he drags his big hands down Sidney's chest and stops to play with Sidney's nipples. He pinches the hard nubs in between his thumbs and index fingers, tugging and rolling them until they are red and tender. "I'm want you, baby. Fuck, I'm want you so fucking much."

Sidney moans as his body jerks upwards, and his hands clench and unclench on his sides. His moans turn into sobbing whimper when Geno replaces one hand with his mouth and sucks.

"Sid okay? Is too much?" Geno checks in after he has paid both the nipples an ample amount of attention.

"It's uh—it's a little sensitive but I like it."

Geno's smirks at the admission, like he is pleased to hear it and drops to kiss a long line down Sidney's sternum. "Sid still same, like when I'm make little pain."

Sidney feels his blush rushes up to his cheeks, because he does like his pleasure with a little pain on the side. This little kink of his is far from uncommon but it is one that very few knew about. It is not like he is ashamed of it but he is used to taking whatever his partner is willing to give, and hardly asks for anything he wants. But he can't deny the convenience that his husband not only knew about it, but seems to take pleasure from giving it to him.

He lets out a dry gasp when Geno sucks on the skin near his ribs, and his hands flies up to tug at Geno's hair again as Geno kisses lower and lower until he comes dangerously near Sidney's dick.

"Hhmm, Geno, please.." Sidney pleads in broken voice and he tilts his head up to see Geno looking back at him with a sly grin, like he is about to do something filthy to Sidney.

Sidney watches as Geno hooks his fingers under the waist band and pulls his sweats and briefs down smoothly. His dick bobs out before it rests on his lower abdomen, precome smears messily on his skin there. Geno kisses Sidney's inner thigh and locks him into an intense staring match, then flattens his tongue on the underside of Sidney's balls and drags it up until the dripping tip, and licks the precome off the slit.

"Oh, fuck.." Sidney feels his body shakes with the sudden influx of endorphins and almost crashes over by how good Geno's tongue felt on his dick.

Sidney is easily falling apart and Geno hasn't even done anything yet. At this point, he is not sure if he can survive to actually have his dick in Geno's mouth. But the thought is quickly put to test, as Geno begins pecking small kisses on his swollen head before Geno takes it into his hot, wet mouth.

The first sensation hits him like a punch to his gut, and it feels infinitely better than he imagined. When Geno engulfs more and more of his length, he feels his body is ready to combust at any moment. Watching Geno's luscious lips wrapped around his dick, stretched thinner as he goes deeper, feels a lot like watching live porn, only better and more intimate. He is about halfway down before he bobs up, hollowing his cheek as he goes. The suction feels incredible, like Geno is trying to suck his soul through his dick, and Sidney has to look away, simply to preserve his dignity by not coming too fast like an adolescent child.

Sidney lets out a whiny sob when Geno comes up for air, and he hitches Sidney's legs over his shoulder before going down on his dick again. Sidney trashes his head from side to side, his orgasm mounting fast and it is when Geno slips one finger into his hole that has him wailing into their once quiet room.

Having Geno sucking earnestly on his dick and his long finger in his ass, Sidney feels like his body is coming apart at the seam. His moans are getting gradually louder and his voice is almost hoarse from the constant need to gulp down air. The sensation is too much and not nearly enough, as he bucks his hips to chase the slight stretch of Geno's finger. Geno keeps a steady pace of fucking Sidney's ass with his finger and adds a second one, pushing it slowly in. Sidney rolls his hips and almost chokes Geno with his dick, but he really wants to speed things up a little, not because he is impatient, but because he is rapidly losing his goddamn mind.

"Oh god, Geno. Geno please, please, please.. I—I need more.."

It feels like forever before Geno pushes in a third finger, twisting and stretching the rim of his hole and the inner muscles and Sidney keens over it. Geno has switched to stroking his dick now, and focuses on driving Sidney crazy with the ever slow thrust of his fingers. Geno brushes against his prostate once in a while, and Sidney has his suspicion that Geno knows exactly where to touch, just that he is missing it on purpose. It makes it rather difficult for Sidney to get annoyed by that, especially when it feels like he is shocked by electricity whenever Geno does hit his prostate. He can only whimper like a sobbing mess and surrenders himself to the wishes of what Geno wants to do to him.

"Ass look so good, baby. Want to fucking destroy it."

Like music to his ears, Sidney nods frantically and makes a noise that is almost too whiny when Geno withdraws his hands from his ass as well as his dick. Sidney huffs a few deep breaths as he watches Geno go over the content in their nightstand, and pulls out a less than half empty bottle of clear lube. Oh, yes. They will need a lot of those if Sidney wants the night to go with what he has in mind. The spit may do an okay job for when it is just Geno's fingers, but no matter how stretched Sidney is, they will still need lubes to help ease Geno's impressive length into Sidney.

"How you want?"

Without hesitation, Sidney shifts onto his front and gets up onto his hands and knees. He spreads his knees a little, testing the position to acquire the best balance and comfort before he hears a string of Russian that sounds really filthy in his ears. He looks over his shoulder and sees Geno's wrecked face and he feels a smug satisfaction for making Geno forgets his English.

"Like what you see, Geno?" Sidney teases with a little wiggling of his ass.

It sets off another round of incoherent swearing but it boils Sidney's blood just the same. The look of desire and want is clear on Geno's face, and suddenly, there is just too much space in between them.

"Come on, Geno. Fucking destroy me."

Sidney feels as scandalous as he is desperate, but it no longer matter when Geno comes up behind him, spreading generous amount on Sidney's entrance and lubes himself up in a hurry. Sidney holds his breath at the first press of Geno's blunt head, and hisses when Geno gives a constant pressure in his thrust. When the tip of Geno's tip is all the way through the tight rim, he pauses, and sucks in a breath before he pushes again. It is now Sidney's turn to sucks in air in rapid succession, as his ass is filled inch by inch, his muscles stretching to accommodate the girth of Geno's dick.

Geno grits his teeth in concentration and punches out a deep grunts when he is balls' deep in Sidney, and he keeps himself as still as possible, giving Sidney some time to get used it. For what feels like the longest time, Sidney rocks forward a little to test it out, and it earns him a delicious friction. Geno's grip on his hips tightens significantly, and Sidney knows it is just as good for him as it is for Geno. So Sidney gives Geno the go ahead, and very slowly, Geno rears back until only the head is still inside, and pushes back in. The slow drag of Geno's dick is deliciously good, and they both moan their pleasure in harmony of each other.

"Fuck, baby," Geno grunts as he pulls out again. "You feel fucking good, so fucking tight." And thrusts forward a little harder.

"Oh, God, Geno. Don't stop. That feels so go—" His word ends with a bashful moan when Geno slams into him again.

Geno's thrusts are long and deep, and increasing in strength and speed. It is not long before Sidney is a moaning mess and muttering absolute nonsense, and Geno is pounding into Sidney without much inhibition. All bets are off when Geno plants one leg up on the bed, shifting his position a little, and the slight change of angle has allowed Geno to hit him squarely on his prostate with every thrust. He cries out in pleasure and buries his head into the pillow, and takes it hungrily as Geno continues to pound into him.

"Sid, baby, come on. I'm want you to come." Geno says lowly through gritted teeth, and his hand winds down to tug at Sidney's dripping dick. With just a few strokes, in sync with Geno's thrusts, Sidney comes hard, his vision whites out and his body goes boneless with only Geno holding him up by the waist. Geno's rhythm begins to falter after a few more thrusts, and comes deep in Sidney with a loud roar.

It feels like a while before any of them can move, and that being Geno because Sidney still can't feel his limps. Geno lays Sidney face down, thoughtfully avoiding the cooling splats of come on the sheets before he carefully pulls his softening length out. Sidney winces slightly at the sudden change of pressure but let out a content sigh when he feels Geno's warm come dripping out of his hole. Then, in his bliss-addled mind, he feels the bed bounce beside him and registers Geno plopping himself face down, an arm across his back.

"Fuck.."

"Mhmm.."

Minutes passes, or maybe it is hours, but it sure feels like a long while before Sidney feels his heart go back to its normal rhythm and his limps no longer feel like jelly. The room is now quiet aside from their breathing slowly coming back to normal, and Sidney chances a look at Geno next to him, only to snort as he takes in the wrecked look on Geno's face.

"You're slacking off, G. Need to work on that stamina a little."

Geno groans and says, "No, Sid. I'm come so hard, dick maybe broken now." Sidney gives out a loud honking laugh only to have an annoyed Geno slapping his palm onto his ass before he snuggles closer. Sidney lets himself bask in the aftermath of their explosive orgasm, and hums in delight when Geno litters some kisses on his shoulder. Sidney eyes the puddle of come on the sheets and makes a mental note to strip it out before the cleaning lady comes in tomorrow. But when he tries to push himself up, he is immediately reprimanded by Geno's arm across his back.

"Hey, I'm just gonna get a wash cloth for us, eh?"

Geno grunts and tugs him in even closer, if that is possible.

"Come on, G. It'll only take a second."

Geno wriggles like a fish and plops half his body onto Sidney's back. "No."

Sidney shakes his head and laughs unceremoniously into his pillow, but not moving away from the physical touch. "Is this how it's going to be with you, moving forward?"

"Yes."

"You are unbelievable, you know that?"

And so they stay in that position and bask in the comfortable haze of having their body so wrung out and satiated.

"That was really good, Geno. I think I've never come so hard in my life."

Sidney says with an expectation of a smug response that will sound something like 'of course, Russian best' but Geno is uncharacterically silent. A few moment passes and Sidney feels the weight of Geno lifts as Geno turns onto his back, his arms draped across his eyes.

"I'm feel like asshole, Sid."

Puzzled, Sidney asks, "What? Why?"

Geno lets out a long sigh before turning to face Sidney, and his expression is something Sidney usually saw when Geno feels bad about something. "Sid not remember many things."

"What? What does that have anything to do with—" Sidney trails off and backtracks all the conversations and interactions between them, from the time since the morning he woke up confused up until this very moment, and finds no clue to help him understand what Geno is saying.

Sidney has been nothing but an open book about the glitches of his memory, and it is a relief that Geno seems not bothered by it at all. Geno has been really understanding and supportive, especially when Sidney has his doubts and insecurities. Geno makes an effort to fill Sidney in about their time together, and half of them makes Sidney all flustered and red-faced. And then of course Geno tells him everything about their daughter, about her first word, about how she loves her baths, and about how she would only fall asleep on Sidney's chest before she is put into her cot.

And they just go about their life as normal as they would, and Sidney is thankful that Geno gives him the time and space that he needs, and not pressuring him to remember. If anything, Geno seems rather confident that the memory will return to Sidney, so in the meantime, they live like a pair of doting husbands, except..

"Geno, did you—did you think you were taking advantage of me or something?"

Geno is quiet for a second before he turns to his side and faces Sidney. "Ugh, is hard to say in english. You not remember we together, Sid. To you, we not kiss, we not do things like lover. I'm not want make weird for you."

Sidney doesn't know how to react to this new piece of information. His brain is still stuck on the insinuation of being taken advantage of and it is making it difficult for him to process anything else. Then it dawns on Sidney that Geno has been carrying this false burden with him all these time and it is the cause for all of Sidney's sexual frustration. He cannot believe the surreality of it but at the same time he cannot dismiss the selflessness of Geno's effort to stay away. Stupid, but very thoughtful nonetheless.

"Geno, you stupid jerk," Sidney says when he grabs Geno's chin and kisses him for a full minute. "Did you really think that I don't want this?

"Hmm, I'm think you maybe want, but you not say, so I'm not sure." Geno replies without a pause, still catching his breath.

"Are you serious right now? You flaunt around the house half naked all the time and then you touch me every chance you get. How could you be not sure?"

Geno grins something borderline sheepish, and it is the kind when someone is caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh my god, you evil bastard. You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" Sidney accuses and gives Geno's chest a little shove. He goes for it another time just for fun and it falls into the grasp of Geno's hand.

"Come on, Sid. Don't be angry. I'm just have little fun." Geno says as he tugs Sidney down onto his chest.

"Oh, I bet it's plenty fun for you, doesn't it? Seeing me squirm like that? Ugh, God. You don't know the amount of cold shower I've had these past few weeks—"

"Wait. Sid, you not jerk off?"

Sidney rolls his eyes at the assumption. "Well, of course not. I was waiting for you, dickwat."

Geno looks shocked for a moment before his brows furrow into a straight line and looking all serious and determined. "Give me twenty—no, ten. Give me ten minutes, then we go again."

Sidney lets out an embarrassing squeak then laughs heartily when Geno flips them around and starts peppering little kisses all over Sidney's face. "Oh, God. Geno, stop. Your beard tickles!"

Geno in turn kisses Sidney on the lips and the complain quickly melts into a long moan. Sidney doesn't think it was possible before, but it seems like they can actually go again despite the fact that they have both came not too long ago. Geno seems pretty determined to make good on his words, with him grinding down on Sidney and doing sinful things with his mouth. It awakens the hunger in Sidney and his previously tired body isn't so tired anymore. However, he pushes Geno away all too reluctantly and ends their foreplay prematurely.

"Wait. Wait, Geno. I—I need to say something."

"Ugh, you killing me, Sid." Geno whines out, panting, and rests his forehead against his. Sidney can't resist the puckered lips and tilts his chin up to steal a kiss from it.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Sidney smiles to himself as Geno mutters an 'okay' before he goes nuzzling into Sidney's neck, all the while murmuring his dissatisfaction in a mix of Russian and broken English. Sidney can't find it in his heart to chirp Geno of his childlike behaviour, because he finds it embarrassingly endearing. He soothes his hand down the back of Geno's head and plays with the his hair near the nape.

"I guess I wanna thank you for being so patient with me these past few weeks. I know it sucks that my brain decided to screw with me now but you were handling it so well, way better than I could ever ask of you. It must have really stressful to deal with me in the middle of the playoff, and I can only imagine how it feels to suddenly have a husband who doesn't remember anything about their time together." Sidney pauses to see if Geno has something to say to that, but Geno just buries his head deeper into the crook and wraps his arm tighter around Sidney's waist.

"But you keep surprising me by being so thoughtful and sweet. I just—" Sidney draws a long breath to calm the emotions that came up unannounced. "I just want you to know that I'm really happy that I get to start this new memory with you as my husband. And you know something else? You don't have to feel like you have to keep away from me. It doesn't matter if I remember about us or not because beyond all that, I think I have always been attracted to you, since the first day we met."

Geno lifts his head to look into Sidney's eyes, gaze piercing with such adoration and fondness. It is almost like Geno is confessing his feelings through his gaze, and Sidney is overwhelmed by the amount of love that he is receiving. Sidney winds his arms around Geno's neck and tugs him down for a kiss. It starts sweet—gentle swipes of lips against lips, once, twice before Geno delves his tongue into Sidney's mouth to deepen it. Sidney has never known such passionate kiss before this, and he surrenders himself into it completely and lets Geno take the lead.

Sometimes Sidney wonders if this is crafted by someone higher in the universe to fill up the emptiness in his heart, because he knows not of such happiness could exist in real life. He has someone who knows all of his quirks and accepts them without question. He has someone who chirps him relentlessly about his huge ass but still cook him his favourite pasta, a mountain of it. And it so happened that, that someone is Geno.

He thought about the possibility of maybe waking up one day and be heartbroken over losing it all. He thought about how devastated he would be, having to finally have a taste of such bliss and then be stripped away after. But even with that risk looming threateningly over his head, Sidney can't see himself trading it, for the alternative is ten times worse, because it means that he will not have any at all.

And the night ends with them snuggled closely under the cover, sharing body warmth and lazy kisses. Their hands wander with meaningful touches, coaxing quiet moans and short gasps little by little. And it is another twenty minutes before the quiet affair reach its pinnacle, and when it does, they murmur their 'I love you's during the throes of their pleasure against each others' mouth. And they lay in the bed, languidly with their limps entangled, and they stay that way until eventually, sleep finds them.

_/_/_/_/

[askmyboys]

Alfie O’Tierney

Name: Alfie O'Tierney | Title: He doesn't really have too many nicknames- just Alfie n Tier and his title/performance name whatever you wanna call it tho is- well he has two- BonBon or BeeBee he l o a t h e s them both tho | Gender: Male | Species/Race: Okay so he is technically a jack in the box, just... an alive one? Is he possessed? Is he just alive via magic? Who knows... | Age: Unknown | Height: 5 inches (if your going to count the spring as his legs that is, if not then I'd say the body of the actual puppet is 3 or 4 inches at the VERY least) | Appearance: Let's start off with the box design, his box is a wooden one actually- on the front of the box, it has the star patterns with a jester on the front of it that looks like Lee himself (I'll get to his actual appearance in a bit) doing some tricks, the sides and back of it however just have multiple colors going down it in a diamond-like pattern, HOWEVER... there's two ways it can change, depending on his mood or if he contorts it to his whim- however he always goes back to the original box pattern before a show begins- doesn't want anyone to be too suspicious, but when he actually WANTS the box to change and its not just a mood thing it looks much more.... sinister, no happy colored patterns, all dark colors, gloomy art on the front- and hey, is his smile wider than usual? It looks that way... Hmm... Now the actual appearance of the puppet... He's much more jester-like than clown-like for sure, his eyes have that- ya know that typical jester eye make up thing? Yeah his eyes are LITERALLY just that cross pattern- its no make up, its legit just his eyes- and sometimes if you get lucky enough, if you look close enough into the slits you'll see what could be considered pupils (those "pupils" are a Smoke Grey color and again its for the color meaning), his clothing, his hat, gloves- etc- even his fucking s c e p t e r that he holds is a fucking brightly colored abomination- its rainbows- rainbows e v e r y w h e r e, he h a t e s the bright colors he has to wear and hold, he hates the bright lights of the stage and everything, however when he's alone, his attire usually just goes to a Shadow Black and Smoke Gray combination, even his scepter gets darker (his scepter when he's not got it disguised as the rainbow abomination has some interesting looking inscriptions on it, and a crystal ball on top of it) | Personality: This being is fucked up in so many different ways that we don't have time to unpack all that! but for starters, he has a front he puts up specifically for the shows he performs in! Its an overly cheerful, friendly, and happy persona- it entertains the crowd and something they enjoy means more people and much more money to come, then his owner, the "puppet master" or whatever ya wanna call him is "happy", when he's alone however... his real personality starts to come through, he's cold, bitter, and angry- he h a t e s performing but he can't escape which only makes him MORE angry and bitter, he h a t e s humanity- he especially l o a t h e s his owner, puppet-master- w h a t e v e r- their all the same to him, greedy- oh so greedy- s e l f i s h, only caring about what they want and not anyone else, however... when he's in his "own world", his puppet friends bring him genuine joy- he loves them and cares for them so much, their not greedy, their not selfish- they help each other out instead of just looking for their own personal gain- (tl;dr: He's angry, he's bitter, and he's just relatively cold, he loathes the puppet master, he h a t e s humanity, he HATES being stuck in the place he's in, his box is fine- he just wants o u t of this hellish place he's found himself in, he wants out of all the shows, all the performances, he just wants to be alone... with his puppet friends, even if means he'd technically be left to rot- anything is better than having to deal with all those noisy nuisances) | Side Facts: The inside of his box is actually MUCH more spacious than it looks- in fact, its an ENTIRE different world in there ....literally, there is an entirely different world in his box, its all in black and white though- he doesn't w a n t colors in his world, its bad enough he has to see all the horrible bright colors in the o u t s i d e world he doesnt want to see them in the place he feels most safe... He does have people down there as well, their..- okay well their PUPPETS but he actually takes care of them and appreciates them immensely, they seem to also appreciate him as well- I mean he IS their creator in a way technically speaking and he doesn't treat them badly, he doesn't make them perform, he lets them live in peace. now the biggest question, is he something possessing the jack in the box toy or is he merely alive by some form of magic? Welp, who knows- he's not even sure what he is anymore! Oh btw-  ya know- his arms AND head can actually spring out too when he needs, its not just a spring for legs that he has- and remember how i said he can contort the box and all that stuff to his own whim? Yeaah actually he can do it to himself too, not just the clothes or any of that, if he wants to- he can look much more monstrous if need be, sharp bear trap teeth, claws, the demented eyes and any other horrifying thing he could manage to contort himself into, as long as it scares off whoever he needs too then its fine- the only thing he can't do is escape his box, he's trapped in there and its not just because of the spring but eh, its not like he'd want to leave his world behind now is it? Despite his hatred of the puppet master, he also secretly deep down f e a r s that man... no, that t h i n g... He's terrified of him, especially when he gets mad, he's the only one who knows of Alfie's little world, he's threatened and completely destroyed one of his puppet friends before, destroyed them beyond repair and all because the little jester didn't make him enough money that night... That was the first time he felt another emotion which he isn't too familiar with, nor is it one he likes: Sadness- he can still remember that awful night, the puppets screams, the one torn apart's of agony and the other's screams of terror- after that he began pushing himself as hard as he could to perform well, he never wants h i m back in his world again, not e v e r- so he'll push himself, even if its past his breaking point. I will say, the puppet master- well I can't say if he's Alfie's creator or not, maybe he is, maybe he isn't- but either way, the puppet master DOES possess magic, that much I can say bc I mean how else could he know so much bout the lil jester and his own world he's built up all by himself- a normal human could never figure that out, then again- nobody questions it- they think its just fancy technology powering this little jester that can move, dance, and do s o many things on his own- he can even wind up the box all on his own to get out- definitely technology- the song the box plays is some typical funny sounding carnival music, however- Alfie can also contort the music to play- well whatever he truly feels like at the moment, its just typical funny carny music for the shows (if you see the name Lee and I missed getting rid of it, lemme explain, I originally was going to call him Lee but Alfie fits better to me)

[argotmagazine-blog]

Music Is a Miracle

When I hear a song I can travel back in time to a specific place. Sometimes I travel back feeling tender and sore. Other times I arrive and feel all the freedom and glory of being four years old again. I’ve gathered some songs here that have the time machine magic ability to send me reeling back to specific memories. This mixed cd essay provides a snapshot into periods of my life where major and minor events happened on a scale from joy and love to violence, depression and confusion. When I hear any of these songs I can remember the textures and tones of what I was wearing, or what conversations were being had above my head, or how I felt at the time hearing the song.

1. Don’t Stop the Music, Yarbrough & Peoples (23 years old, San Francisco, CA) When I show up to my somatic therapy session and the two chairs that usually face each other are nowhere in sight, my stomach almost falls out of my butt. My therapist asks me to play a song on the small iPod speaker so that we can move around to it during the session and I choose “Don’t Stop the Music.” I turn my back to her and sob the entire time it plays, full to the brim with anger at her (even though she told me we would begin to transition to embodiment/movement in our sessions). I was also ready to punch myself in the face out of anger and disgust because I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t dance while someone else watched. It was the beginning of my journey to understanding the shame I carry in my body and the trigger of being watched. Later that year, I am confronted with the question, what if you never remember what happened to you? Then I understand I need to begin with being at peace with the fact (the absolute blessing and absolute curse) that I might not ever remember exactly who harmed me, when, or how often. My body remembers, and that has to be enough to begin the process of healing.

2. Paper Planes, M.I.A. (18 years old, New York, NY) I am dancing on top of a bar in an old brownstone on 114th St. between Amsterdam & Broadway in what is formerly known as Harlem and currently colonized as Columbia University. I am a freshman in college and it’s Fall semester. I often overhear people I consider to be kids (like me) talking about drycleaning and credit limits and other things I didn’t have access to on the elevator of my freshman dorm. It is probably my second or third time being drunk in my life. The party is beach-themed and there is real sand on the floor of the brownstone occupied by a white fraternity. There is “jungle juice” being squirted out of super soakers at people as they dance. As soon as I hear Paper Planes starting up with it’s repetitive electric guitar riff, I dart from my group of 15th floor friends dancing in a circle and demand someone help hoist me onto the bar. I’m dancing to the song when the police come into the house to break up the party. It’s the most nonviolent I’ve ever seen police in my life.

3. House Every Weekend, David Zowie (24 years old, London, England) I am in Camden Town at a dark bar. Everyone’s drinking something called a ‘Stevie Wonder.’  It comes in a squat round glass with a brown sugar cube balanced in the middle by a long toothpick, served with the sugar cube set on fire. Some dude with a bald head and a gold tooth in the front (not Slick Rick) wears a brown leather jacket with shearling wool around the collar. He seems to be friends with everyone. I never figure out if he works for the club or if he’s a dope dealer. This is my second time traveling alone and my first trip ever to London. I chill on a couch with the bald dude with his gold tooth and some of his friends; they are girls my age and one guy who is a muscle meatball. All of them are messily drunk and predictably simple in the way they talk to each other about themselves and other people. I assess they are not smart enough to be a danger to me. They invite me to an after hours party and I ride in a cab with them; we pass Big Ben and the London Eye to get there. They are playing House Every Weekend when we walk into the club. It’s probably my sixth time hearing it that night between the two clubs. After two hours of declining the flirtatious advances of the bald head, I go to the bathroom and return to find that the group of people I came with are gone. I grab my coat from coat check and go outside. I see the sun rising and the group of them negotiating with a cab driver. Bald head looks mortified as I approach. I give him a good old fashioned Black American cuss out for trying to abandon me and shake him down for cab fare. He comes up with the money. I ride back to my hostel alone in my own cab, satisfied with myself that I’m safe and alone. I’m fucking proud of not taking anybody’s shit—not in America, and damn sure not in London. I wake up the next afternoon hungover to someone blasting Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. It’s her birthday.

4. Silly Love Songs, Disco Duck Dance Party (5 years old, San Francisco, CA) I am little, (maybe in kindergarten, maybe younger) dancing in the daycare at my Nana’s house. It’s my turn to choose a record on the record player and I choose the Disco Duck Dance Party sleeve with the two yellow ducks with blonde wigs dancing on the cover. When Silly Love Songs comes on, I grab arms with another small person and we spin and we spin and we spin on the carpet. The carpet has a gray roads pattern on it that is great for playing on with tiny toy cars. I pull the bottom of my shirt low and flip it over the top of the neckline to make a crop top like a hoochie mama with my belly out. It’s okay, it’s fun, it’s funny, and we all do it. Our round pale and ashy bellies under ribs showing and we can’t stop laughing at ourselves, at each other.

5. The Good Life, Kanye West ft. T-Pain (16 years old, Aguacate, southeast of Tatumbla, Honduras) I am sixteen, going on seventeen. I am in Honduras for the summer living in a homestay and volunteering with a program called Amigos de las Americas. The program is made up of primarily rich white kids who enroll to volunteer so they can write in their college application essays that ‘they helped’ and ‘learned so much about life from poor people’. It’s the summer people touch my hair and it’s affirmed that I’m Black in a way that doesn’t feel good. It’s the summer the entire village laughs at me because I say I’m from the United States. They laugh because they assure me that there are no Black people in the United States and they think I’m out of my mind when I tell them that later that year there will, hopefully, be a Black president elected to office. I leave in late summer and never learn what they think of Barack Obama. One night in my cot as I lay suffering and scratching from scabies on my way to sleep, a rat skids underneath my already low to the ground cot. I nearly lose my shit as I’m quietly listening to my walkman play Kanye and T-Pain’s The Good Life. The walkman breaks on the floor in my shock and stays broken for the larger part of the trip. I am so happy to see my Black family when I get home. When it is time to write my personal statement for my college application, I am advised by college counselors and mentors to choose between writing about my incarcerated parent or my schizophrenic parent. Guess I didn’t need to go to Honduras after all.

6. A Rose Is Still A Rose, Aretha Franklin (7 years old, San Francisco, CA) I learn intuition by being sensitive to the pitches, tones, scents, and temperatures of our house. We get bars on our windows. The fish dies. Again. Our neighbors are a nuisance. We seem to have to share everything with them. Consequently, we know about their stealing geese from Golden Gate Park and eating them for a celebration one year because we see them two-to-a-bag waddling in our shared backyard. Carrots and peas come up through our tub drain from the pipes we share. My mother tells us to bang on the walls with her high-heeled shoes when they sing Vietnamese karaoke too late into the night for our liking. I know my mother’s every scent. She does my hair in ways I don’t like, but she tries. I’ve already begun losing hair on either side of my temples. A Rose is Still A Rose is a precursor for my mother breaking glasses or me sneaking white wine out of the box in the refrigerator by putting my head under the spout. It’s a wonder how the wine makes my chest feel hot even though it’s cold. A Rose is Still A Rose plays and my mother is having a Tupperware party with a sweet Filipina saleswoman on our black couch with the seemingly spray-painted teal and magenta colors across it. A Rose is Still a Rose is on and I’m in first grade memorizing my crush’s phone number from his emergency card. I go home to call it and hang up, call it and hang up, call it and hang up. Until his mother calls our house back via *69 and I am completely mortified when I pick up.

7. One More Time, Daft Punk (6 years old, Concord, CA) I am wearing a pink (or is it strawberry?) one-piece swimsuit at Waterworld. The water slides  loom high above me. There is music playing on the loudspeaker throughout the water park. The station playing is Wild 94.9, the song is One More Time and it’s sung by robots. I’ve never heard anything like it. I am clear that this is not our music—music from our house, from our family. I’m becoming aware that our house and our music might be different than the outside world. I am curious about whose house this music belongs to. I’m curious about who this sounds like home to. I’m curious if there is an entire other world of music made by robots or other human beings that has existed outside of my knowledge. I go to sit down in my hot plastic lounge chair and flinch from the burn. Instead I choose to stand beside it and step my foot to the quick rhythm as I dry off.

8. Dontcha, The Internet (22 years old, Oakland, CA) I’m in the toothpaste aisle at Safeway on an errand for my family when she tells me she ‘loves me loves me’ over the phone. I feel like there are colors flying off of my back in the wind like Pocahontas, I’m so damn happy. I’m living at my family’s house on a couch less than a year out of college and I feel pathetic when the flirtationship ends, because I don’t even have my own bed to have a good teenage girl cry in. I cry in my car while listening to Dontcha often. Until less than a month later, my car gets broken into because I accidentally leave a nearly empty backpack peeking from under the backseat. The backpack contains my one pair of prescription glasses, a good pair of earrings, and an old letter from my flirtmate written before we parted ways. The letter had both of our names and addresses on it—it was a love note containing a fictional lesbian erotica scene starring the two of us.

12. Ain’t Too Proud to Beg, The Temptations (4 years old, San Francisco, CA) I have a small microphone in my hand that has a metal coil in it that vibrates and echoes my voice when I sing into it. My grandpa teaches me Ain’t Too Proud to Beg and the two of us take turns singing it into the microphone. He loves the way I sing “sim-puh-tee” not knowing the word ‘sympathy’ or how to pronounce it. I learn to love The Temptations. I grow to love performing. Soon I begin to have awful night terrors that wake everyone in the house while I kick and scream. My grandma goes to an herbalist to get some little red pills that have a sweet coating on them. I remember coming-to once in the light of the hallway with my grandparents on either side of me to give me a dose of the recommended herbs, but I have no recollection of my dream beforehand.

9. Push It, Rick Ross (16 years old, San Francisco, CA) I am driving my mom’s Black Isuzu with a provisional license. I have two jobs after school. Nearly all of my classes are AP classes. I want to be like the white kids I go to school with. I want to have an allowance, have a lunch prepared for me, have breakfast before I leave the house. I want to go thrift shopping and wear other people’s clothes and roll my eyes when my parents listen to talk radio and read books not required for class. Despite my trying, I feel a barrier that I can’t name or identify when trying to fit in. The cowboy boots I buy are not theirs because mine are too expensive. My sense of books or music or movies is not theirs because my sense of humor is not nuanced enough. I sit in a classroom of majority white kids and watch Do the Right Thing for the first time. It disturbs me in language I don’t have to observe white people watch my culture in rooms where we are minimally present. I wear a mask to be accepted at school but it’s not a well-constructed one. One day while walking to return an overdue film at my library, I decide that I’m going to begin selling weed despite never having smoked it myself.

I sell a teensy bag of weed to a kid at my school and it’s way too little for what he’s paid me. He sends another friend to my math class to get his money back. He thinks I’ve punked his friend but really, I don’t know what I’m doing. I drive to St. Francis Wood bumping Rick Ross’ Push It in my mama’s car to sell a petty amount of weed to another kid who doesn’t give me enough money on purpose. The following day at lunch, I come behind him in line at Mollie Stone’s and scoop up all $20 of his change. He looks at me in disbelief without protesting—he is afraid of me. I learn that people want me to play a role—a good one or a bad one. They like it when I prove them right and I have to work extra hard to prove them wrong (because they hate being wrong).

My weed-selling days last a week or two in total. That week on my way home from an after-school job downtown, I descend into the Powell Street station and there are officers with dogs harassing people and smelling their stuff. I race back up the stairs and wait for the bus with weed in a small coffee container in my backpack. In a freaked out haze, I get on the next bus, which ends up being the 9x (when what I really needed was the 9). As I notice the bus turning onto the freeway, I vow to never sell weed again, to stop trying to fit in with white people, and to never take the 9x (unless I have exhausted all other options).

10. Sweetest Taboo, Sade (26 years old, Southernmost Point Key West, Florida) I am alone, turning twenty six years old in the Florida Key. I take myself out to birthday dinner at a restaurant on the beach and eat fresh fish and key lime pie for dessert. There is a family of a mom and dad and two daughters at the table across from mine. They’re discussing a younger family member who is trans. The parents at the table are loud in their determination not to call the person by their name or respect their pronouns. The waiters come and sing Happy Birthday to me at my table of one. I drink my glass of champagne, raising it to my mouth instead of answering when the mommy jackass from the other table ask if it’s my birthday. After dinner, I go down to the beach and get in the water up to my knees. Looking out into the shining black of the water, the sky, and the moon reflecting, I listen and dance to Sweetest Taboo by Sade playing on my phone clutched in my hand. The entire trip is a get-well-soon trip to myself. I do all of the sweet things the usual me would like for the me that has been sick, depressed, dissociating, and not feeling anything. I go home to the Airbnb I’m staying at on Sugarloaf Key and I masturbate for the first time with my hands. I have an orgasm and I cry and cry and cry. Ashamed-cry, scared-cry, confused-cry, something-is-breaking-away-cry, something-is-becoming-cry, how-long-has-that-been-there-cry, why-cry, I-just-did-that-and-I’m-proud-cry, why-don’t-I-know-what-happened-to-me-cry. I don’t give up on myself. I don’t give up on interrogating and pursuing my pleasure despite it’s seemingly stitched-together relationship to shame.

11. Get it Together, India Arie (19 years old, New York, NY) I make a mixed CD and mail it to my mother. She is in rehab in San Francisco and I am in college, a world apart in New York City. Maybe I am a sophomore, maybe I am a junior. I have finally come out of denial about my mother’s drug use. I call her one day and I’m furious about her lying to me. And I’m furious at my family for lying to me. I’m furious for the whole world acting like everything is okay. I’m furious that she stole my money, lied about it and sold my guitar before I could learn to play it. I’m furious that she put my sisters through hell. I’m furious because I am ashamed. I’m furious because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of addiction. I’m afraid she’ll never shake it. I’m afraid my sisters will live in shame because of it. I’m afraid I will be addicted. I’m afraid nothing will ever be okay again. My mother enrolls in detox and then enrolls in rehab. She stays there. She lives there for six months before transitioning to a halfway house. While she’s in rehab, I send her a mixed CD with Get it Together by India Arie on it. I’m walking between one class and the next when she calls to tell me that she’s three months sober and really enjoys the CD I made her. I’m grateful she’s sober. I’m furious. I’m hopelessly confused and sorry and fucking sad. And I can’t tell her anything except “congratulations” with a full throat, out of fear of breaking her sobriety.

12. We Belong Together, Mariah Carey (16 years old, San Francisco, CA) I am sixteen in the passenger’s seat of my grandpa’s Ford Expedition as we drive with a car full of grandkids to the movies. He loved Mariah Carey’s We Belong Together since he first heard it and has insisted my grandmother put it on a cd for him—ALL. EIGHTEEN. TRACKS. I seem to be the only one tired of it, all of the other kids get a kick out of belting it out again when it comes on deck the next time. Later this year my grandpa gets the truck washed and detailed and insists that I take my driver’s license test in it. Everyone else is lined up behind me for their license test appointment at the DMV in tiny cars. When I pass the test, my grandpa kisses me on the head and I realize that he is showing me confidence and pride in my ability. I feel special and capable and trusted. When he says, “I knew you would do it!” I realize I knew I would too.

13. The Storm is Over Now, Kirk Franklin (14 years old, Phoenix, AZ) I am in the backseat of my great aunt’s Cadillac in Arizona after meeting her for the second time in my life. I’ve just come from seeing my paternal grandfather die from cancer the day after meeting him in the hospice center for the first time. In his sickness, he sent for my sister and me to come from California. He wanted to meet us before he died. That night, my great aunt armed with silver-purple hair and a hug big enough for my sister and me to fit in at once, drives us to the hospice center directly from the airport. When we walk into the room, my grandfather has a large knot at the top of his bald head and he is barely responsive to us. But he closes his eyes tight or nods very slightly as my great aunt talks to him loudly, letting him know his grandbabies are there. I meet my all of my aunts and great aunts for the first time. I meet all these people who look like me. Early early the next morning, we get a call notifying us that my grandfather has died. When we go to see his lifeless body in the hospice center, I don’t remember who prays with us around him. When we head back, The Storm is Over Now plays in the car, and I cry because it’s an awfully timely song. The sky opens up after raining and the light comes through like a slice. We all agree that it’s confirmation he’s been accepted into heaven.

14. Deep in the Bottom, Black Coffee (27 years old, San Francisco, CA) I am on-time to therapy. I walk over from work. When my therapist asks if I have music to move to, I select the therapy playlist I’ve been practicing to. Deep in the Bottom comes on the speakers. I begin moving around the room. My hips and back want to be rolled, I let them. My feet want to keep time. My chest wants to expand and contract. My neck rolls and tries to loosen. I think to myself that half of the work is choosing music that I can’t help but move to. The other half is reminding myself that I am not in danger. I remind myself that this is the work. I try to keep my head up as I move. I try to catch my own eye in the mirror when I can bear to. I try to let the self-deprecating thoughts pass. I remind myself that reclaiming intimacy through movement, eye contact, physical touch, walking without bracing all of my organs—all of it, is a healing practice. Today I move and dance like I never have before. I dance like everybody's watching and I don’t care.  

Tanea Lunsford Lynx is a fourth generation Black San Franciscan on both sides. She is currently at work on her first novel. She has more than 10 years of experience as a performing artist, curator, activist and educator in San Francisco.

[whistlewhileiblogit]

Warning: LONG POST Being the "Crazy Ex Girlfriend" (with a lot of Arthur Morgan praise)

So on another post (forgot which one welp) I commented saying Arthur Morgan should be the standard for men. I stand by what I said.

And I was thinking, why the hell aren't more men like that? Then it hit me.

Because men see themselves as such already.

So many men put themselves in that role, despite not fitting it at all. They think that they are kind, and loyal and honest...whatever traits you can think of, they believe they are.

And this even includes the ones that jokingly say, "oh I'm an asshole". Because to them that's just it, a joke. They don't really think they're an asshole. Yet one way or another they reveal themselves to be just that.

How many times do men say "you're over reacting"? Or, "you're acting crazy"? And then when you call them out on their bullshit they straight out deny it?

The more I think about my interactions with men- brothers, boyfriends, friends -they all seem to have that in common. They all think they're the "good guy", the "hero" and/or that women are always the problem, or being too dramatic, or to blame, etc.

Allow me to give a few personal examples:

- My first (and only "official") boyfriend of four years constantly lied to me, and was also emotionally manipulative despite that I frequently called him out on it (he once blamed me for his suicide and said I would regret doing nothing to stop it). He also would rile me up over text, then proceed to ignore all my messages/calls. Towards the end of our relationship this worsened to the point where he continually had his friends under the impression I was a "crazy girlfriend". Despite all of this he still saw himself as this martyr, this saviour to me because he frequently tried to buy me off with gifts. He always made sure to mention "all he did for me" in arguments.

- The second ever dude I kinda sorta not really was seeing. I told him straight up from the start I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I was pretty certain I didn't want a relationship yet. He said he fine with it, happy to "see how things go", until one day he got mad at me for not wanting to be introduced to his family and friends as his girlfriend. Proceeded to tell everyone I was "crazy", that I ruined "the best weekend of his life", etc.

- Multiple guy "friends" I've had. Each of these were always just friendships to me. I made that clear. I spoke in a way that showed that. Yet they developed crushes on me. They can't help that, obviously, but then of course each asked me out. And what did I do? Politely reject them. Out of the 5 (I think?) guys over a period of many years, only TWO of them accepted it and dropped it. Oddly enough, those two each got girlfriends a few weeks after. The other three? One of them basically dropped me as a friend completely, another said he wanted to still be friends, which I tried for about four or so years, despite him frequently asking me out over and over again. Each time I said no. He tried to guilt trip me once saying "is it because I'm fat?" which was bs because at the time my well-known crush (who later became my first bf) was fat himself, and actually far heavier than him. Even when my bf and I were dating, he continually pursued me and put my bf down in the process. Not to mention what I think was his attempt at negging me (which obvi didn't work on top of his emotional manipulative behaviour). Eventually enough was enough, and I decided I didn't want to be friends anymore. And the third guy? I had NO idea he liked me, and I never thought of him that way anywho. He and I were becoming really close friends in a time where I didn't have many (I was so nervous making new friends at uni so it was exciting for me). He was really cool at first. Hella funny, and we could dnm about almost everything. Then one day he finally tells me over text that he, and our two other friends (who were dating each other) had formed this plan to try and set us up. I was mildly offended that my friends hadn't even come to me and asked if I was even interested, but let it go. So once again, I told him sorry, I'm not interested. He lowkey sulked that he'd figured he "wasn't my type" because I was always going on about Joel (from TLoU) due to my massive crush on him. He even had the nerve to say that I was "too picky" when it came to dating. After that, he started treating me differently. He wasn't nice anymore. He was actually being intentionally mean. Constantly picking on me in the group chat, etc. When I called him out on it, and told them I wasn't finding the "jokes" funny anymore, what did he do? Tell me I couldn't "take the banter" and that it was my fault because "I'm an easy target". A massive fight ensued and he left the group chat as if to say he'd "won". We haven't spoken since.

I could go on. I could tell soooo many anecdotes of my own, old friends, you name it. Men, on average, seem to all have this air of confidence that they think excludes them from being a decent fucking person.

Men frequently tell me about their "crazy" exes. How women "ruined" them and their lives. How they "just want a normal chick". And in the same moment will turn to me and say shit like, "I'd love a girl like you." or "you're a good chick, you're marriage material."

I'm meant to take it as a compliment. I know that is how I'm supposed to interpret these odd, (kind of) creepy comments.

The worst part is that if I DID date them, and it turned sour, in the end I will undoubtedly be called "crazy" or what have you, most likely. It seems to be a pattern that girls are always the crazy ones.

To swing back to my original point; men always assume they're the good guy.

I know in relationships, particularly in breakups, everyone wants to be the victim, the one who's been wronged. Hell, I am certain I was like that in my teen years.

But the thing is, girls and women are used to taking the blame. We are so often called crazy for the things we say and do that we start to believe it. And we begin to scrutinize our own behaviour. The amount of times my girl friends (and myself included) have admitted, "I could have handled myself better/I was caught up in my emotions/maybe I'm being too hard on him/he's just a guy" etc, compared to guys who have said something like that to me?

I cannot think of one time a guy I know fully admitted his own faults, or apologised without a girl initiating it. Again, because guys think they're the hero in their story.

They think they're all Arthur Morgan's. They think that because they start out gentlemanly and affectionate that that excuses their other shitty behaviours when they come to light.

I legit had a guy friend tell me deadass that he and his girlfriend never called each other just to say things like, "where are you/when are you coming home?" because he considered it an invasion on his privacy.

I mean, what? Checking in on your loved one is a bad thing now?

I'm just gonna say this: if you consider having a girlfriend (or anyone in a committed relationship) any of the following, YOU SHOULD NOT BE IN A RELATIONSHIP:

- A "ball and chain"

- Anything that you consider to be "keeping you down"

- A hassle or a nuisance

- An effort (that you don't see as worth the effort)

- Annoying while talking about their interests, hobbies, goals, etc. (basically if talking in general or not talking about things you are specifically interested in is annoying to you)

- You almost never see them already and yet still say "I need space"

- You are dating out of some sort of obligation you feel ("I might as well" "I've gotta get married eventually")

- You are only thinking of ways they can serve you (are they marriage material? Give good head? Obedient? Quiet?)

- You never actually think about them in a selfless way (you don't make an effort to remember birthdays, or things important to them)

- You don't ever make any sacrifice or compromise for them, yet constantly expect them to do it for you

- You think that offering them favours (giving them a lift, taking them to an appointment) will earn you brownie points, instead of doing it because you want to help them out

- You consider it a favour to do something that is at least in part your responsibility ("I'll pay for your birth control this time...")

- You see them as "holding you back" from being with other people sexually, OR you flirt with other people (I had a guy continually flirt with me, telling me how attractive I was because I played video games, all while his gf was in another room)

So all in all, this has been a long, bitter post saying men ain't shit.

And before anyone gets on my ass for it, no, I am not talking about "all men". Anyone who knows me personally knows I really love men...mostly. But sometimes shit has to be said. And in my defense, if you are a man who's first instinct is to say "not all men!!" you're probably part of the problem.

Men, try to be more like Arthur Morgan, or whatever hero of whatever story. Don't assume you already are one. Remember, Arthur didn't start off as a hero, either.