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[king-products03]

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[mlmxreader]

Sickly | Art the Clown x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi! I saw that you wanted to write more for Art?

I saw your sick fic about him and thought it was so cute! Would you maybe consider doing a part two where Art’s in bed (still in his clown costume because he literally sleeps with that thing) with the reader but he can’t sleep because he’s got the sniffles that bad? And his silent sneezes are just pitiful for the reader to watch lol ❞

: ̗̀➛ You resign yourself to a night of devoting yourself to Art whilst he's sick.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, sickness/illness, mentions of murder & gore

↳ Part One: Feverish

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The soft sound of Downton Abbey episodes were playing softly from your television as you did your best to sleep; but with Art beside you, constantly lunging forward and silently sneezing and coughing, it was difficult to get any sort of rest whatsoever.

You didn't know if it was better or worse that he made no sound, but even his harsh movements were enough to constantly justle you.

"Just how long is she here for?" Lady Violet asked her son.

"Who knows?" Came the quiet, mumbled reply of Lord Grantham.

You laughed softly at the exchange, which roused Art to shuffle around as he moved to grasp your attention; he tapped your shoulder, and when you looked at him, he pointed to the box of tissues that laid at the bedside table.

Even in the low light, you could see the snot clinging from his nostril, desperate to make it down to his black stained lips. You winced, immediately grabbing them and pressing the box into his lap; Art nodded in thanks, and roughly, violently, rubbed his nose on the tissue.

You had grown used to the fact that he always wore that fucking clown costume, even when he was lying in bed, but you were slightly less likely to think of a complaint given that he was sick and had been ever since his most recent return.

He didn't leave you as often as he used to, in fact, he hadn't left at all since he had come back to you. It was... odd.

You didn't really know what to think of it, if you were honest - sure, you were glad to spend any time with him without interruption. But you weren't used to having him around so often.

Lingering around you like the smell of rotting meat.

Granted, he did smell a lot cleaner than usual thanks to you; he had access to your shower and all your gels and shampoos and body lotions, and he always copied you when you washed in the morning and again in the evening.

He never exactly smelled fully clean, the metallic scent of blood and rotting meat always clung to him, but he didn't smell rancid like he usually did.

Even his breath smelled better now that you were making him brush his teeth after every meal to ensure that the bits of gooey brain matter and sharp shards of bone didn't get stuck between them and fester.

His teeth were always difficult to brush properly, their long and pointed shape, more akin to a lamprey than anything remotely humanoid, made it extra work to get between them without the bristles breaking immediately.

Art moved again, clutching his ribs as he opened his mouth to cough wetly and roughly, even though not a single sound left him; you felt pity, really. You had never seen him in such awful ways.

You coaxed him to lie down between your legs, the back of his head pressed against your stomach as you gently massaged his scalp. His breathing was slow and shallow, like he was struggling to get any oxygen in at all, and you turned the television up slightly.

Art watched the television, appreciating the monochromatic colour schemes of the gentlemen as much as the staff; their black and white outfits were much like his own, although with a different pattern.

He wondered what they would do if he went and bashed their heads in with all those shiny things in the shelves; the blood splattering all over their walls and carpets and paintings. So many people in one house, he wouldn't have to ask for anything to eat for weeks. Months.

But then the scene opened to a young couple - a brunette woman and a dirty blond man - sharing a bed; the duvet was red, with a white stripe at the top, and the headboard was a dark red colour. It looked a lot like your bed, although yours was green, not red.

He pointed excitedly for a moment, then dramatically sneezed against his sleeve at above the elbow.

"Oh, Art," you hummed softly, patting him gently so he relaxed against you again. "Settle down, too much excitement will make you worse, y'know."

He mocked sulking as he folded his arms across his chest and looked up at you with a stern pout.

Anyone else would have been ripped to shreds and had their brains removed and eaten for such a small action; but he simply sat there, pouting with his arms folded. Glaring at you.

His cold, dead, stare never even irked you anymore, and finding him staring at you in the middle of the night and gently stroking your face was far from unusual; but it was your time, now. Your turn.

You gently stroked his face, tracing all the little details that you cared so much for; that long nose and the line where his skullcap ended and his skin began. The little dot on his nose. The ring of black lipstick, the thin drawn eyebrows. The rings around his eyes with the slits down the middle, carved out of makeup.

He was certainly beautiful and striking to look at; you would never be able to deny that, as even when he was unwell and sick, snot clinging to the tip of his nose and phlegm at the back of his throat, he was still beautiful.

"I'll stay up all night if I have to," you mused kindly, a complete distinction to him. It was a wonder you were ever so close. "I can stay up with you."

Art shook his head, the dribble of snot flapping around from the edge of his nose; he was telling you not to bother, he even scowled and snarled at the thought of you losing sleep. No, no, no.

"It's not a worry," you told him. "Honestly. It's one night, and if it helps you to get better, then I really don't mind."

Art couldn't be bothered to argue, so with a heavy thump of his hand, he grabbed the television remote and turned the volume up a bit more; might as well see if the drama of rich, old timey, English people was better than his usual method of keeping himself entertained.

He doubted it.

hi! thank you so much for reading! if you'd be so kind, I'd like to take just a few more moments of your time. the Baalousha family need funds in order to secure the survival of themselves, but especially their two very small children; they have nothing left in Gaza, and with their home destroyed by Israeli bombs, they are desperate for money to continue to stay alive. so far, they have raised €20739 of their €52000 goal, so if you could spread their story and their fundraiser and even donate, then please, please do.

[dhampling]

oh, mother fem!reader, 3.3k

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau. The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. - It's the mummy fic. cw: lactation, breeding mentions, age regression (?), smut, astarion as a content warning, humping, feeding, afab reader, MUMMY, dadstarion, cockwarming w/c: 3.3k

Astarion looks over his shoulder from the homespun carpet, book limp in hand. 

Like the written word could hold any comparable weight whilst you’re there decalescent and milk-swollen above him.

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau.

The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. The way he strokes something so very gentle at your swollen shin, head stirring as he searches for purchase atop an aching thigh. 

Your eyes leisurely as they cut between the infant latched to your heavy breast and the restless chit by your legs on the ground.

“Hm?”

The youngling gurgles in sleepy succour.

Astarion rolls his head forward with a lazy smile, saccharine in holding his tongue between teeth.

“This. All of this. Dreamy, isn’t it?”

His voice is silken against the low crackle of the fire. The shallow suckling breaths at your chest. 

“Mhm.” 

Your fatigue is wholly joyous in its maudlin haze, your agreement a free and light hum. 

The man at your heel, the child he gave you; the wonder as he watches on - her little face scrunching as she swallows, the hint of a cough as you lightly adjust where she lies in the crook of your arm. A small coo.  

There’s a strange look in his eye. Not the reverent fatherly gaze you’d come to expect from your husband in the months since you’d become a mother. Instead he seems fallible. 

Round-eyed, gentle;- 

Lamblike. The restless sheepling. Marvelling and timid. 

“You’re a vision.” 

Your eyes meet and you dare him to hold the stare in his yielding state. 

You’ve become somewhat of a recluse in spending time with your daughter, and she certainly isn’t begrudging of the tangle of hair atop your head, nor the span of your torso kept so soft and warm on which for her to lie. The heavy swell of your breasts, the intermittent spotting where milk bleeds through your tailored house clothes. 

It’s not that you necessarily feel any certain way about your physical attributes at present but you’ve definitely felt cleaner. Been better presented.

Mother.

Astarion’s face is pure butter, muddled and waxen as his brows draw together. Quietly roused in a moment of recondite.

Whatever runs through his head is new.

Lashings of fresh rain hammer the windowpane. The claw of winter, dark streets; seeping stone. The umber flickers of the fire on the wall. Heat licks the side of your face closest.

Glowing.

She groans a gentle burble. Her lips smack together softly as she finishes and you lift her from your chest, tucking your breast back into your slip and bringing her into the crook of your arm. 

There’s a moment where his head tilts as if to speak.

“She’s tired.” You whisper whilst running a finger along her cheek. Small eyes of glimmering ruby, lids lulling open and closed. More quiet gurgling as she fidgets. 

“I’ll take her. Rest, love.’

Astarion stands from crossed legs, twirling around to lean over the little one; over you. Runs his wiggling fingers over her small frame in little taps. 

‘My darling girl! Princess of the Kingdom Sleep.’

Large hands lift her from your chest into his. A gentle rock as he does so. 

‘This simply won’t do, will it? Let’s take you upstairs.”

He taps her nose on ‘you’. She sneezes violently.

You watch them both from the lounger as he steps through the arch and round the corner, up the spiral staircase and padding softly to your shared chamber. Balmy quiet. More rain. 

Your first Lover’s Day as three feels poignant. 

Despite keeping from the sun - and therefore sleeping the actual day away - in the stormy night your home brims sweet with ardour. A bubble of somnolence; a barge at sea. 

A year of calm. Stillness. Establishing yourselves in your respective newfound freedoms and figuring out who you are; both alone and together. A conscious effort and one rewarded just months earlier with her.

“You’re so… soft with her.’

You don’t hear him reenter the room as he comes behind you and closes the door to the den with two chalices in hand, a bottle in the other. He doesn’t miss the brow quirk.

‘Dealcholised. Don’t worry’ 

The top uncorked.

‘I fail to see the fun in it myself, but ‘needs must’ and all that.”

A hint of the player’s tone. You laze back as he returns to his place at your heel, handing you a glass of honey mead. 

“I’m her mother. Of course I’m soft with her.” 

You take a large sip and recline. 

Astarion snakes an arm around your leg, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to the flushed skin. 

“You. Her mother.’

He takes a large gulp and swills the sweet tincture around his teeth.

‘I still can’t quite believe it. The baby part, that is -’

A shake of his head. A brief grimace, puzzled yet pleased. Wholly adorative and you can see the retrospective of recent memories fly through his head.  

‘You as a mother on the other hand. As if it were meant -’

Kiss.

‘To’

Kiss.

‘Be.”

His lips close on your shin, habitual breath fanning cool over the hot flesh. 

“Mhm?” 

He looks up at you with those big round eyes once more, a reticent smile. Head tilting to you coyly.

“You. You’re a vision. An absolute vision.” 

“You like it?”

“It’s-’

He falters in that moment of recondite from before. Seeks avail. 

‘I watch you care for her and it makes me weak at the knees. Your little love.’ 

The last words whispered in fond awe. His hands wave around his face in a considered manner. 

‘You provide for her, hells. Nurture her. Hold her close to you in this beautiful,  unconditional love; no matter the hour.’  

Your love for him. He wonders if it will stretch to the words on the tip of his tongue, but he’d be a fool not to try.

‘And I-”

“You think you might want it too?” 

He sags. Still round-eyed, but the corners of his mouth noticeably dip.

“Yes. I- I suppose I do.”

You’re not surprised, though you’re impressed that he voices it so plainly. In your mind every instance he’s retreated into you plays in vivid colour. Each time he’s held you close, so innocently; as a child may a parent. Not often. Not boldly. But the want is there. 

Maybe it’s the taste of the mead, despite the lack of alcohol. Fizzy and heady.

But no. You want this. You want to show him you care in the most innate way you’re able; unearthed in the way you care for her. 

Your darling. The Rogue of the Gate. Brittle-boned and weak following years on years of isolation and hurt but here; eyes aflame, wide open at your heel and healing. 

He runs his hand absentmindedly up and down your leg as you ponder.

“What do you want, my love? Tell me.”

Your voice is pure honey as you keen into his touch a little further. Yielding. Relishing the pads of his cool fingers; a salve to your inflamed limbs. 

The whine from earlier. You remember it. The bridled snare of his tense coil, watching you mothering his child and aching for you to cosset him too. The soft mindless touches. The way you feed her from your breast as you do him from your neck. His knee-jerk rutting against your leg.

He sits in sullen silence for a moment.

Then, his eyes meet yours once more. A wary hand slips up to your thigh; deft fingers circling the doughy inner skin. You part your legs at his touch. 

“It’s okay, darling boy.’

You lean forward from your slouch and hold his head in your hands, legs open; back arched as your thighs remain open. Low and soft as you bring your mouth down.

‘It’s okay. What do you need?’

Astarion shivers. Guttural. Frozen in sheer terror. Lust as you cradle his head close to your aching breasts. Real, unfettered lust. Every sprawling emotion, each moment spent searching for someone to see him with comfort in their eyes in those early hours two hundred years ago. 

He sometimes forgets he’s allowed to feel anything remotely desirable when he’s like this. Forgets he’s with you. Forgets he can covet you and still keep you past dawn.

Old habits die hard. 

‘Come back to me now, sweetheart.’ You whisper, tongue ghosting over the outer contour of his ear as he continues his ministrations at the inner skin of your thigh. Tips flushed red.

‘Come to mummy.”

The groan spilling from his lips is inhuman. The hesitant hand diving between your legs turns to an iron grasp in record time.

Pliable. Ass pert on the sofa cushions. 

“Can I?” He whispers, clutching feverishly at the pillowy skin.

“Use your words, Astarion. Come on.” 

His ear is his soft spot. Tender, sensitive; flushed with blood from waking bites. 

“Can I?”

Your eyes are featherlight as they roll into your skull. Burning cheek, thighs strong.

“Please.’ 

His head lifts from the crease of your knee as he braces himself to stand - eyes meeting yours in a sheer devotion that wracks every inch of your scalding frame. 

‘Come to me.”

You shuffle so there’s room for him atop the cushions, and he crawls into the space between you legs as you hold his arms. Your angel. Forlorn with a lack of direction akin to that on his face when you first met. His eyes weary; heavy in their low-lidded gaze.

The parting of your legs once more. The way he inhales.

“Mother. Mother.”

“I’m here, love. My darling. I’m here.”

Astarion queries the break in your thighs once more with a desperate hand. Leans in closer with a small choked sob.

“What do you need, my love? What can I give you?”

Your ability to provide for him. Enough to make him hard each time - the fact you offer it freely in his home, atop his embroidered cushions; the primal need to comfort him with your body. He resonates with it. Yearns for it. Freely given and given free.

“Can I touch you, please?”

Thighs part as bullrushes in wading season. You think about his pale prick, standing alert in his trousers. 

“Come here.”

You expect his hand to resume the agonising crawl up your thigh, but instead it moves to palm at your wetness quicker than you think. His leaky bride. He searches for evidence of your desire and he finds it in abundance through the cloth of your undergarments, and instead of the typical smarmy response you’d come to anticipate-

He simply gasps. 

Mouth heavy with spit. Thick with joy, lust; ripe having seen the proof of your need for him. To take care of his ruined body and learning mind.

Your hands move to your chest as he looms over you, peeling the slip down from your breasts so you can relieve the ache that wracks them. Heavy. Painful in their retention, nipples distended as wholly engorged with milk.

“Fuck.”

“Swearing in front of mummy? Rather unbecoming, no?” 

His eyes roll back into his skull, this time from jovial relief. He’s still in there. No disassociation, no hurt as you sigh, as your hands move to relieve the ache from your teats; rolling your nipples in practised tandem and riding the air with the subsequent high.

He groans once more. Straddles your lap as his hips move to hump the air by your soft belly. Desperate thrusts. Wanting. Needing more and more of your validation.

It’s not until your aching nipples do something most unexpected that you moan alongside him. Longing. Your lover - his face now spattered with your drips. Forehead, cheekbones; the space between his nose and lips; all adrip with the sweetest fluid he’s ever been baptised with. Milk dribbles from each of your teats and flows into the one neat pearl hanging from each. 

Astarion’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment you feel it deep in your abdomen. 

“You want to taste?’

A meek nod. A solemn promise. Those lips of a charlatan. 

“Can I do something first? Please?”

You wonder how many silken lies have spilled from that tongue in some desperate sense of bravado over the years. How the performance has no audience here any longer.

“Tell me. What do you want?”

You struggle against the moan desperate to spill from your lips. You want nothing more than to become clay in his capable hands, and yet you know you must remain as you are. Stoic. Liberal with a chiding tongue should he need it.

“Will you warm me while I do?”

“Are you hard, my love?”

“Please, mother.’

He lifts your wrist from your chest to the apex of his thighs, manoeuvring your palm by the back of your hand so it presses deep on his aching cock. Hard. Pulsing. Searching for somewhere to bury deep inside and be warm in comfort.

‘Mummy. Please.”

His use of ‘mummy’ throws you a million miles off course on a wayward comet of pure desire, hurtling through a new sky in hearing it in his downy timbre. A mere whisper. You see for a brief moment the small elven boy he once was as he seeks comfort in you, ears out at a point, eyes folded something crestfallen.

Your tits ache as you reach down to free your cunt, rolling the linen down your legs in a sweat-laden stupor and throwing the piece aside as Astarion strokes his cock. 

“Fill me, sweet one. Let me look after you.”

Whatever remaining crumbs of resolve he has dissipate at the sound of your voice, rolling to pull you onto his lap and holding you in a hover above his fat head, slit leaking clear as it rests against his shirt.

There’s a moment where you look at him fondly, as an equal.

Then as you sink onto the pointedly hard length of his weeping cock you see the softening of his face and you want nothing more in all the realms than to baby him like he wants of you. To hold him close, soothe his aching need for your body; for your guidance and wit, for your humour and want. For the way you smell warm, like domestic heaven; so much like someone who cares for him as if he were born directly from you.

A part of him was. The part of him now alive and breathing, asleep upstairs in the cot beside your shared bed.

This part of him however now feels it close. Feels the way your spongy walls yield to him. The way you want to please him and be pleased.

You allow yourself one roll of your hips as you shift to accommodate his sharp length, holding a moan in the back of your throat and wriggling so you sit comfortably above him. This isn’t about the fervent dance to reach a peak. It’s for him.

Leaking teats now at eye level, large droplets of milk freed in your shifting. He pulses inside you as he asks with big round eyes. A taste - and who are you to deny your favourite boy?

With a nod from you, his lids flutter shut and his tongue brushes sharp fangs to lick softly at your nipple. The sweet cloud of nectar dissipates on the surface and his whimper rocks you straight to your core, the brief wince as you feel the kick of his cock inside you.

Hungry. The only way you can describe the sound biting at his throat. 

“So good! So good.”

He nods softly at your encouragement, looking to you once more; seeking permission to take a wholly distended nipple into his waiting mouth. 

You arch forward in response. A gentle ‘yes’.

The veiny flesh of your breast forms a lightning-visceral halo of blues and greens around his soft curls as you look down. Wet kitten licks, soft suckling; coaxing the warmth from within as you card a steady hand through his hair.

His hips begin to roll a little. Your other hand moves to anchor him. 

“Ah-ah. Rest now. My beautiful boy. You’re doing so well. You don’t need to move, do you?”

He shakes his head frantically around your nipple. A furious refute.

“Good. Good boy. Do this for you.”

There’s a moment where he loses himself fully in the taste of you. The sheer mass of your newly-fattened nipples, the way they feel as he pushes against; over them with his cool wet tongue. Soft yet aching. Rubbery. Abundant. Listens to the rain hammering the window.

Then a hand reaches out. Grabs at your clothed waist, palm basking in the body heat; lifting your skirt just a little further up your thighs to gain access to the bud of your swollen clit and smooth the hood up and over. Exposed. Curious as to how far he can go.

When he starts to circle the white-hot flesh you know you have to focus.

This isn’t about you. 

And yet he murmurs something under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard properly at first.

“Want to feel you cum around me.”

Astarion can’t meet your eyes as he says it. All sense of grandiloquence he’s ever shown anyone lost behind flush cheeks. Vulnerability. 

“Say it again.”

“I want to give to you.”

“You want to give to me, or you want me to give it to you?”

He stops. Looks at you with a bewildered furrow.

“I want you to stop touching me and focus on yourself. Use me, sweetheart. Take your pleasure.”

The furrow remains for a moment or two as he stews in blank thought.

“Talk to me. I can do it, I’m so close already.” He laughs shyly with an eager pulse of his cock.

“You want to spill in me again? Make mummy round once more, sweet one?’

A brisk nod. Desperation deep set as he looks you over.

“It’s okay! You’re allowed to want this, to take it.’ You lean in to his ear once more and bite calmly at the tip.

His eyes screw shut and his lips purse together.

‘I want you to do this.”

And he cums. Hard.

Tries to bounce you on his lap in order to gain some friction in the waves of brutal frustration biting at his core, grunting and wailing as he grabs at whatever of you he can. Hips, ass, thighs; terse and hot.

And you simply coo. 

Refusing to let him move you, nor take solace in the friction you so willingly often provide. His abdomen tenses something staccato as he takes what little purchase he can and tries to push into you further.

And then, he begins to weep. 

Your hand moves to his hair once more, bringing him in to your chest as he attempts to hump you through his climax.

“There now. Good boy.”

Tears as he finishes. Cold-heavy sobs. Mouth absentmindedly searching for the soft of your neck in the rolling haze and biting. Gnawing. Looking for the pulse point now permanently marked by two bloody spots. 

He feels the nod you so freely give and sinks his fangs deep past the skin. 

Ruts up with his now softened cock, suckles like a small lamb. The sluice of his spend pooling on his pelvis. 

“Good boy. Take what you need, always. I’ve got you.”

The haze passes with each sip from you, blood puddling under his tongue and down his perfect throat. The frustration melts into sheer joy as he hugs you close in small peals of laughter. 

“Gods. That was -’ 

He pauses for one last sip before tilting his head to look at yours.

‘That was phenomenal, love.’

You take a moment to look him over for any signs of discomfort, anything that might indicate he’s putting on a front for you; and there’s nothing. No veil. His eyes are empty in post-orgasmic bliss and he looks so incredibly beautiful in such joy.

‘I’m wholly spent. I really am.”

You laugh at his breathy shakes.

“Mummy is here whenever the urge should strike, darling. You know this.”

He rolls his eyes and grins. 

“Oh mother. How could I forget?”

[betweenblackberrybranches]

So i wrote a little thing for the RLGL au

Its a prologue of sorts, the first actual meeting between the guys and y/n at work before they become neighbours

Be warned though i am not a writer and typed this out quickly on my phone while i was supposed to work so it is probably not that good (i think i just randomly switch between present tense and past tense so it just be like that)

Warning for suggestive themes. But nothing explicit is mentioned

There you stood, one hand grabbing the handle of the sleek chrome and wooden door. This was not part of your job description. And this was really not something you wanted to do. You were a janotor. Fixing minor electrical things, looking after the plumming, washing all sheets that the cleaners brought into the washing room and fixing and cleaning up the rough stuff. Every day was busy and you had always kept to yourself and the many staff only hallways, away from the rich red and black velvet and the polished wooden floors, raw concret where the eyes of the customers wouldnt see.

You felt safe in your domain, the low humming of the heating filling the basement rooms like the breathing of a sleeping dragon. Or atleast that was what you liked to imagine it as. It made your work seem atleast a little more exciting and kept your mind of the various fluids you had to painstakingly rinse out of the white and burgundy sheets.

You straighten your sleeves, a black turtleneck black slacks and a black baseball cap with fazCOs logo, not really the usual uniform for the people interacting with customers, worlds away from the white button up and vest you should be wearing. But this was an emergency. Well as far as the rich bozo in this room was concearned atleast. So who knows on what level the "mess" was, this could be anything from some spilling to..... well no need to think about worst case szenarios.

Straightening your cap one last time you enter the dimmly lit room. You immidiatly regret every single choice that led you to this specific sight. The hairs on your arms rising in protest as you try to nonchalantly step further into the mess, the customer having left apparently, not even waiting for the emergency roomservice to arrive after calling for it. Red wine and some gunk that looked like it had been food once that had been chewed and spit out again smeared all over the couch and carpet. You call out to make sure the coast is clear, trying very hard to not gag.

As soon as you are sure there is no human in the room you rush to a lifeless form of satin metal and plastic on the ground, swallowing hard as salvia and gall rise up in your throat. You find the second one bundeled up on the bed, lanky arms and legs positioned in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, one of his arms was popped out of the shoulder, only hanging by the many thin cables running under the outer casing.

Shaking hands finding the small power button at the base of the blue ones head you wait, counting five and then ten seconds. This isnt something you should be doing. This is against company policies, and yet you cant just leave them like this for a technician to find after you cleaned up. The soft hum of the reboot sent your hand back as if burned and you kneel down to repeat the action on the yellow one. You knew they had names, pretty obvious ones at that.. sun and moon. You had only seen them from afar until now. Especally because you were not a waiter or maid, someone who would walk past them regularly in the flashy suits and club rooms, no you were someone working in the shadows. A shame that the one time you saw them this closely it felt like you should avert your gaze, because even under the questionable liquids and gunk they still looked stunning. The yellow one started humming under your touch and you hurridly got up, starting the cleaning process and ignoring the two stiring bodies like you were supposed to.

Moon sat up straight, unfurling from his nothing but explicit position, his left arm dragging on the bed. No mind was given to the worker bustleing around the furthest corner as moon leaped forwards and down to the ground, shaking arm immidiatly finding his bright counterpart who was in the process of opening his eyes. Sun looked up and welcomed the soft embrace of moon, foreheads pressed together best they could with their orbish heads, giving themselves just one moment of comfort before dealing with the situation at hand.

You had started to clean the bathroom first, wanting to give the two robots enough time to regain their baring and hide their bodies away if they so wished. A bitter taste on your lips you reenter the main suite with two steaming hot towels and a big box of wet wipes, wordlessly pressing them in the hands of the two, now sitting on the bed encased in a thin sheet. With any interaction between general staff and escorts being prohibited you were pretty much towing the line of doing something that could get you fired, but you felt like this needed to be done.

Moving on you cleaned the carpet, trying to ignore the two bots meticulously wiping down eachother. You sigh. This all felt so wrong. You grab the cleaning rag tight as you rub at the carpet and wish you could do more for the two than gracefully ignoring them and their disheviled apearances, assuming theyd even want any help from a random janitor.

They are still cleaning and fixing up eachother when you put away the last stained pillowcase and wipe down the low table one last time. You swallow dryly. All you can think of doing for them is grabing two small post it notes from your cart and make small origami flowers, one of like three things you know how to fold. Leaving them behind on the stack of clean clothing you plop down on one edge of the bed. It is hard not to sneak one last look at the two, hovering around eachother, deeply concentrated on reapplying eachothers makeup with gentle brushstrokes.

The most beautiful constelation. But you feel like this is not something you are supposed to whitness.

You leave the room, softly dragging the door shut behind you and the cleaning cart with a click, disappearing back into the concrete lined corridors of the staff only areas, back to whatever you were doing before, the two robots in their gentle embrace at the border of your mind.

Cream fingers close around the neon colored paper flowers, to be carefully deposited in an inner jacket pocket and transported home. To be kept safe in a small cardboard box under their bed. To be forgotten but never lost.

[theriu]

What advice do you have for someone who wishes to (eventually, as soon as she has both the space and the money) have a cat, but who has never had a pet before?

Oh goodness, I don’t feel like an expert but I will do my best! Here’s a few tips I can think of from my own experiences:

1) Decide how okay you are with shedding. Of my two cats, the long-haired one obviously sheds a lot more noticeably, and it can be a bit aggravating to find clumps of fur all over the carpet. Hard floors can make this less of a nuisance since you can sweep it up easily, but if you have a lot of carpet, I’d suggest a short-hair cat unless you just SUPER LOVE long-hairs. Of course, my cats were both strays so those kinds of considerations didn’t really factor in. 😅

2. Determine if you want a cat that is indoor/outdoor or indoor only. Now, there is a lot of argument against letting cats run free outdoors, but I used to live out on a farm right next to a trailer park full of stray cats, so a few more (all fixed) weren’t going to make much difference to the local wildlife. Once I moved into town, though, I rehomed my one cat I knew would be miserable being indoor-only, and the other two have adapted pretty well to being indoor cats. (They do try and sneak out the door sometimes, though.) I did this mainly because risks like being hit by cars or being mistaken for a stray and adopted by some well-meaning person are much higher in town. They are still risks elsewhere, though, so keep a collar on your cat, and consider getting it microchipped. Also, know that you will probably need to get the cat some extra shots, for diseases they can only get outside. Also also, make sure you spay/neuter! (The kitten issue aside, female cats are so WEIRD when they are in heat!)

For indoor cats, my house has stairs the cats can run up and down and they seem to stay in good shape, but just make sure they have some kind of ability to exercise if they can’t run much. Stimulating things like feeder dishes that make the cat work for its food can help mentally and with keeping them from overeating. (I got this neat feeding bowl that is actually a holder of five cups of varying sizes that get filled with food, and the cats have to paw it out of the cups. It’s really helped with how fast they were eating.)

3. Cats have very different personalities, so I think it’s good to try and figure out what a cat is like before adopting it. I kept all my cats because they were really friendly compared to other cats I had known. Of course, there is the issue where my two current cats don’t always get along, but they at least don’t get into full-on brawls. But if you don’t have any other pets when you get the cat, this should be easier - you only have to get it used to you! Cats don’t always show friendlieness by cuddling; a lot of times, they just want to be in the room with you. But if you’re looking for a cuddler, see if you can find one that isn’t too afraid of people and will come right up for petting. When introducing it to your home, give it plenty of space and time to get used to its new surroundings and roommate.

4. Remembering to feed and water and change the cat litter can be hard, especially if you have ADHD. >.> My solution on the water front has been to fill a large decorative bowl in the living room and the cats just drink off that. XD For the food, Stormy will always remind me when she thinks the food is low (this is generally a false alarm the first couple times, the drama queen). Make sure you clean the litter box frequently, or the cats may find other, less agreeable locations to go. 8/ (Such as, oh I don’t know, INSIDE THE DRYER ON MY CLEAN LAUNDRY) If your cat does pee somewhere, you want to get those pet cleaner sprays because they break down the stinky enzymes that make cat pee smell so bad for so LONG.

5. As mentioned, some cats are cuddlier than others, but here’s a few general tips on cat behavior: a slow blink is how they show they trust you. A cat rolling onto its back is also showing trust that you WON’T touch its vulnerable belly (but some cats do actually learn to love tummy rubs; you kinda have to figure that one out on a cat-by-cat basis). They often like being petted on the area over the hindquarters near the base of the tail, but they also have a lot of nerves there and can get overstimulated, so if a cat goes from letting you pet it to trying to bite your hand, it is probably telling you that petting needs to stop NOW because its nerves are going CRAZY. This can also involve some trial and error; my former cat Clyde still sometimes knee-jerk reacts to being petted, but my sister says he has never done it to her, so we think she just pets less firmly than I do. Meanwhile, Shuri has NEVER reacted poorly to petting, and in fact would love nothing more than for me to spend an hour petting her so hard that she squishes into the mattress.

6. Don’t waste money on fancy cat toys unless you have some indication your cat likes that kind of toy. (This may be different if you raise them with the fancy toys from kittenhood; mine were both strays and are Very Suspicous of anything fancy I get them.) Laser pointers are an INSTANT FAVORITE and only cost a few dollars! And a dangly thing on a string can usually get them excited. Cats will often prefer a plain cardboard box over a fancy catbed, but they like pillows and piles of clothes and chairs and couches and people beds. And sometimes the round puzzle you put together on top of your hope chest, because Borders Are Safe Zones.

7. GET SCRATCHING POSTS OR THEY WILL MAKE THEIR OWN. (They will probably make their own anyway; my couch is regretably covered in claw marks. But the scratching posts at least help slow the deterioration.) Fun Fact: Cats don’t use scratching posts to “sharpen” their claws, but rather to rub off the outer layers on their claws. If you trim your cat’s claws yourself, you may notice how the claws kind of flake off when clipped. Be very careful not to cut into the quick (the blood vessel) when trimming! If your cat strongly opposes this process, the vet can do it for you for a small fee, but I generally just wrap mine up in a towel and make them suffer the indignity. It’s cheaper for me and less stressful for them than a long car trip and a visit to the strange vet’s office would be. (And they always forgive me pretty immediately after I release them. I cannot speak for cats that may hold grudges.)

I’m sure I haven’t covered even a tenth of the useful info, but I hope these are helpful and that you find just the right cat buddy in the future! 😄

[cruyffista]

pep/mikel. set in 2018 when mikel was pep's assistant. was kind of inspired to write something after the events of the previous week so asdfghlkj hope this isn't too bad.

It started off as a joke, really.

The party had begun nearing its end; inebriated players and staff members had started saying their goodbyes, taxis were being called and phone calls with congratulatory family members had been taken. Mikel had been getting half-ready to do the same, until a friendly smile from Pep and a warm hand on his shoulder had told stopped him in his tracks. A private conversation, away from the rest of the meandering group was what he wanted.

Down the narrow, twisting corridor they had walked, so close that Pep could brush Mikel's hip with the back of his hand every couple of strides. As usual, Pep was deep into one of his normally all-over-the-place conversations, which had turned into a monologue about halfway through. Mikel didn't mind; he loved hearing Pep talk, his words bouncing from one topic to the other with such speed and grace that Mikel couldn't help but admire.

Sometimes it surprised him how much he still resembled that same fifteen year old boy that had once papered his walls with magazine cut-outs, posters and various ephemera of Pep.

In Pep's office, Pep poured them both two glasses of deep mauve wine, which seemed to sparkle in the low-light of the room. The conversation had gradually circled back to Mikel. His wife, his kids, how they were doing. What he was planning to do after being an assistant coach. Such level of earnest concern paid towards Mikel from a man he admired made him feel decidedly delighted, warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body.

He was in the middle of reaching for Pep's arm in a gesture of aborted thanks when he dropped his glass of wine on the floor. The crystal wine glass, thankfully, had survived the fall but the red wine it had housed spilled out, soaking the navy-blue carpet with red and splashing on Pep's leather shoes.

"Wow Mikel, you must be even drunker than I thought," laughed Pep. It was rare to see Mikel, normally so straight-laced and in control, so uncoordinated and ungraceful.

Mikel murmured a noise of apology before grabbing wads of tissues from the office desk, trying to clean up as much as he could. The thought of leaving the cleaners to fix up his own mess made him feel embarrassed, never mind that this was Pep's own office that he had thoughtlessly dirtied.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Pep stepped forward, extending his shoes towards Mikel, gesturing towards the fat droplets of wine still remaining on the dark brown leather. His voice was laced with something like mirth, but Mikel took him seriously anyway.

His tissues were soaked with wine, sticky and damp. What followed was a split-second decision, one that Mikel wouldn't have even dreamt of doing if he wasn't currently drunk out of his mind, alcohol thrumming through his veins and sweat pricking at the back of his neck.

He clumsily crawled towards where Pep was standing, on all fours, before bowing his head and sticking out a pink tongue to swipe at one of the beads of wine. It didn't taste that bad—the rich flavour of the red wine drowned out the unpleasant leather texture and powdery taste of dirt and grass that had embedded itself into the shoe over the years.

It should have felt humiliating, but instead Mikel felt oddly pleased with himself, like he was finally expressing something that he had failed to articulate into words with his actions. With how much Pep had done for him over the last years, no—decades, this felt right in a way few things seemed to feel right. Natural.

When Mikel finally got the courage to look up again, Pep's pupils were blown, nearly obliterating his brown irises. At Mikel's questioning gaze, he gave a little nod. Nobody said another word. Experimentally, Mikel licked another stripe, this time on the side of shoe. His fingers came up to cradle at Pep's ankle while his tongue traced over the ridges of the elegant stitching and lapped around the metal eyelets that adorned the shoelaces.

Before he could begin on the other shoe, Pep gripped Mikel's chin and tilted his face upwards so that he could meet his sharp gaze. Mikel's hair was matted with sweat, and his face was flushed a deep red, almost as deep as the wine he had spilled just minutes earlier. His lips were shiny with spit.

Grinning, Pep's other hand went straight to his zipper, while he pushed Mikel's face towards his trousers. The light switch flickered off. It was going to be a long night.

[korpuskat]

hello! ^^

I recently finished your rftw series with michael! the story is so good (/gen) and I’m so excited to see what the last part of cadence has in store! if you don’t mind me asking, are there any hope for it to be released? @-@

Cadence has been a thorn in my side ever since I started writing it. It's painfully close to being done, but I can never coax it into wrapping up. On the chance I never do finish it, here's my WIP (remember this is in context of Cadence's 15K part 1 before anyone comes at me for characterizaton lol):

(NSFW, vaginal sex, somnophilia, choking)

Cold. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold- and droning like white noise. Warmth still clings to your chest, but a chill creeps over-- Your eyes snap open, arms shooting out, searching the dark because <i>fingers</i> touched your side. What you find, of course, is broad shoulders and wobbly latex. Michael. But what you find is also <i>wet.</i>

You recoil first- hands disengaging as he continues what he’s doing: flipping the blankets over, which you must’ve crawled under in your sleep, and pulling harshly at your pants. A seam pops- and you mumble in frustration, undoing the buttons with half-asleep hands. As soon as it’s open, he rips them down your legs. You hiss, the fabric stinging like carpet burn down your thighs. He’s keyed up, too excited from a fresh kill to even care- your underwear is shredded before you can even lift your hips to pull it off. 

Fuck, it’s going to be one of those nights. 

One massive hand keeps you still, holds you hips in place while the other unzips his coveralls with a <i>zzzzt</i>. Electricity sparks in your belly; he’s going to fuck you. The thought of his cock alone makes your thighs press together, the sweet promise of release so tempting after the last two days. His knees press into the mattress, your whole body shifting as it dips under his weight- and he doesn’t even wait for you to get resettled. The hot head of his cock rubs blindly between your legs; you don’t bother concealing your gasp as he brushes your clit. 

In the darkness, it’s only you and him. Time and space fall away, nothing left in existence but his body moving against yours, the raw physical sensation of heat and pressure and each of his exhales echoing in the mask. Your fingers grab at his shoulders, just for an anchor, twist into the coveralls- and it’s wet. You shudder, imagine how he must look, coated head to toe in viscera, tracked blood straight to your suite and- 

You don’t smell iron. 

His clothes are wet, but they are also <i>cold</i>. The mask is just visible with the low moonlight that sneaks in through the curtains- and it’s clean. Cleaner than you remember ever seeing it, almost starkly white. One flop of synthetic hair hangs darkly, solidly, over his latex forehead. You trace your fingers up over the slightly melted edge, over rubbery ears. 

Michael forces himself inside you with one stroke; your cunt <i>burns</i> with the stretch, all limbs closing around him in desperation to keep him still. Tears spring to your eyes once more, teeth scraping open your bitten lip- and all you can do is tell yourself to breathe, to focus on the coming pleasure, because it will, it always does, no matter how cruel Michael chooses to be. 

So your snap your thighs closed around his waist, locking him deep inside while you clench and shiver in pain and shock and the first trembling whispers of <i>good</i> because <i>fuck</i>, he’s so <i>big.</i> Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to stretch to accommodate him. Warmth replaces the cool, radiates out from between your legs and- and something isn’t right. 

Michael should be drawing back, forcing your legs apart and pounding away until the fuel of his bloodlust has burned off, more animal than man- but he’s not. Rain water drips onto your chest, runs off the shape of his false face, the heavy noise of his breathing masked by the soft rumble of rain and thunder. Bent over you, he’s not quite <i>on</i> you like he normally is- no, he’s leaned away, enough for you to stare into the pitch black holes where his eyes should be. There’s no light to see the gray or white beneath, but they must be fixated on you. 

“Michael?” You murmur, too sleepy to mask the concern there. He doesn’t even tip his head. It’s not panic, not yet- if he thought he was in danger he wouldn’t be still like this, if it was some new type of sadism, there’d still be an air of it on him. This is… something new, something you haven’t yet been able to pick up the little signs of. 

Your hands unwind from his soaked coveralls, the joints creaking from the effort. The fabric is rough and even more abrasive still soaked with water, but you stroke his arms as best you can and seek out his face in the darkness. Without any reaction you skate higher, one hand dancing up his chest, just past the drooping collar, to the thin strip of skin visible between the rough cotton and smooth latex. 

“Michael…?” His name hangs on your lips- and he answers with his hips. 

The animal drive has disappeared entirely. It’s a smooth roll, shallow- cautious. Where you had expected force and pain is softness; you gasp, part shock and part pleasure- and Michael must take it as a good sign. He keeps this strange pace and you dig your fingers into the shoulders of his suit, squeezing more rainwater out with each thrust. Your body isn’t sure what to do- so used to producing quick, efficient lubrication, you’re nearly gushing for him now. This sort of kindness from Michael is foreign, saved for when he’s injured or sick or- or particularly cruel. But this <i>isn’t</i> that- it’s new. 

You can’t even begin to understand his motives- why he needs <i>this</i>- but you can still give it to him. When you wrap your arms behind his neck and pull him closer, he only resists for a moment. Closer- closer until you can hear his soft pants from behind the mask, feel the heat of his breath with each puff through the nose holes. 

When he shifts his weight, he slides deeper- stroking so gently along places that have only known his brutal paces. You gasp, pull his hips closer with your legs- and the tilt of his head towards your mouth is not at all lost on you. Without prompting, he expands upon the motion: sliding nearly all the way back out until you’re whimpering, aching for his return- and pushing in so slow, finding his way so deep within you until tears gather at your eyes. 

<i>”Michael,”</i> It’s a prayer, an acknowledgement, a <i>thank you</i>- 

His breath catches; if your hands were not on him you wouldn’t have even felt it. He keeps pace, betrays no other hints of his reaction- fucks you deep and slow, rolls his hips with each thrust, grinds against your clit so sweetly- but you felt it, that sharp little inhale. 

With his head tipped towards you, it’s hardly a stretch to reach the latex. Cool and as clean as you’ve ever known- you kiss blindly in the dark. It’s too smooth to be the lips, slightly puckered with melting- must be his cheek. It isn’t for long, because Michael turns, meets you halfway. The rubber lips taste like rain water, not at all like the cruel mouth that lies just beyond- the taste of blood on his tongue as sweet as vanilla frosting. You kiss him and all the while tension settles between his shoulders, radiates down his arms.

<i>”Michael,”</i> You repeat, this time with <i>purpose,</i> you scrape your nails against the harsh cotton of his coveralls to emphasize it. This time, it’s his hips- a thrust just too harsh to be completely controlled. It’s a spark to kindling; the kind of treatment your body’s been waiting for- and the “Yes!” that follows is not intentional at all. 

And still- in the darkness you <i>feel</i> his resolve, the decision he’s made- whatever game he’s playing. He doesn’t give in, as much as his fingers are threatening to tear the sheets, he slows- keeps his pace even. 

There is one thing, however, you’re sure he can’t resist. Delicately- as much as you can be while being fucked- you wrap one hand around his left wrist. He doesn’t react at all, hardly seems to notice- except with you tug at it, urge it away from its death grip on the sheets. This he tips his head at. “Michael,” You whine, tug again for emphasis. The mask tips the other way, his pace slowing with curiosity. He gives in, shifts his weight to his other arm, lets you move his hand- 

The seams <i>pop</i> to the left of your head, his grasp shearing through them as you guide his three-fingered hand to your throat. The weight of it alone has your pussy tingling, every nerve woken, waiting for him to deliver. You think, perhaps, you might be crazy to taunt him like this, to get this wet at the thought of him choking you. 

It’s not a thought for long.

The muscles in his palm twitch once before he adjusts the grip. His hand rises up, forces you head backwards and <i>squeezes</i>. Not a single moan escapes his grasp, but he must know- because the mask tips again, the empty back eyeholes boring straight into you, watching every reaction. And like that, his interest in being soft has evaporated. 

He fucks you- the same fervor you’d expected after a hunt finally manifesting with each thrust, his cock ricocheting inside you, gives no room for hesitation. It doesn’t matter- darkness is buzzing at the corners of your vision, eyes growing heavy and tired, barely able to keep awake if it weren’t for the force of Michael’s hips. You’re fading, head lolling with each impact- 

Michael’s grip loosens. Air floods your burning lungs- and you’d been so oxygen deprived you didn’t know how close you were. He doesn’t even let you moan; his hand closes around you again before any noise slips out. Your throat vibrates under his palm and you wonder if he knows you’re screaming his name as you tip over. With no air every feeling is amplified, your adrenaline-fried brain bringing every stimulus up and up until it’s unbearable. 

Clamping down on him as hard as you can doesn’t deter him at all; he fucks you without pause even as your mind frays. Heat pulses out from your pussy, radiates down your legs, up into your chest- and you arch your back up, press more of your skin to the cold cloth of his suit. Your nails rip at the sheets, at his back, at anything you can reach- you don’t even realize you’d been digging your knees into his sides until he grabs one and <i>forces</i> your legs apart, all his weight held on your femur. 

[azalea-romanoff]

HAPPY AUTISM AWARENESS DAY!

First: happy autism awareness day to all my mun/mods with autism or who have characters with autism. (in my case, it's both!)

So in honour of Autism Awareness Day and month, I'd like to tell you all about my levels of autism <3

Tics and Fidgets: I'm on the spectrum such that I have a lot of tics and fidgets. Usually it's the repititions which feel nice, and it can often annoy others. I have a tendency to: click my tongue, snap my fingers, flap my hands, rock back and forth, and i make popping sounds. the more subtle tics are pulling my hair, picking my fingernails.

Poor Eye contact: Poor eye contact with me is only with people i don't know or during stressful situations. like if i'm in a meeting with Nick Fury, i'll be fine. but if i'm greeting new agents? hell no. (//ooc: i can talk to my class teacher just fine, but with maybe the delivery man, a cashier, i can't look them in the eyes.).

Abnormal Posture: ...as an agent, this is a huge no-no. the only reason i got the job is because my abnormal posture is literally me just keeping my fists clenched at all times, and keeping my left foot a bit more in front of the other. a tense fighting stance if you will. Convenient!

Anxiety: Shockingly, it's low! I only get anxious in places which are too loud or too far from home. loud places make me really anxious because it means i have too many thoughts in my head and too many things to process at a time. and being deaf, too, with hearing aids, it makes it 100x tougher. Sorry, but Azalea Romanoff-Maximoff isn't the girl you take to a party or a club.

Social Difficulty: I have moderately high social difficulty. as in, i have trouble communicating my thoughts when in big groups, and making friends is a bit...daunting as a task. And sometimes i miss on non-verbal cues like sarcasm, subtle joking, even a few metaphors here and there. So iF YOU NEED A SPECIFIC BIRTHDAY GIFT, TELL ME TO MY FACE. DON'T HINT IT-? I WILL LITERALLY NOT GET YOUR POINT.

Noise Sensitivity: ...have you met me? i am VERY sensitive to noise. Vacuum cleaners, power drills, gunshot sounds (//ooc: movies, especially), someone typing loudly on their laptop, so many of these day-to-day sounds drive me to a meltdown sometimes because it's just so annoying.

Abnormal/Flat Speech: Nope. Most people can tell how i'm feeling by my voice, except in situations where i'm confused on how to react. like if someone says they're pregnant, i'll just say 'oh, nice.' like, are you happy or sad or like-? eH???

Fixations: I have plenty. But my biggest ones? Top Three: Animals, History, Space. iF i get bored, i will literally talk about this for hours, and dare you show even an iota of interest in the same, my friend you're gonna be there a WHILE.

Depression: only on sensory overload days, or on days where i randomly get sad. a result of the anxiety, honestly. i think wayyyyy too many 'what if' scenarios.

Aggression: And finally, I'm not a very aggressive person. Only if i'm very overstimulated, if i'm not being heard, or if i'm just having a bad day in general, i might break a pencil or two. maybe throw a few books down a shelf.

BONUS: soooo i hate the colour yellow or anything that is yellow. like, i haven't ever touched a banana. my favourite colour is red, and my favourite animal is the panda. i hate the feeling of shag carpets and i don't like the feeling of nylon on skin. i don't like the scratchiness of yarn and i don't like the sound of chalk on a chalkboard. i do like the hum of an air conditioner though, and looking outside a window helps calm me down.

SO that's all about my autism! I hope i made you all aware! Reach out to any fellow autistic people you may know, and do find out about their fixations, if they're non-verbal or verbal. accept them for who they are, don't try and fix them.

autism isn't a disease. our minds are just wired differently. if you can figure out how a complex video game works within 24 hours, how hard can a person be?

🤟 love you all!

bellow is my autism spectrum evaluation results (mod's) for people who are close to me, like @moongirlwidow @wandabug @supermilkshakebanana @nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol @capt-carter-mostly-official @esmerxyaugusta and @pietro-maximoff-official <3

[aliwritesfic]

The Wedding Date (Frankie Morales x F!Reader) (part 12)

*taps mic* is this thing on? um, i have literally no excuses. if you're still here, i love you, i cherish you, i dont deserve you. im sorry for the literal year long hiatus.

Previous Next The Beginning

“So this is it,” Frankie grinned shyly at you as he unlocked the door to his house.

“Your humble abode?” You stepped past him into an airy living room. Two dark couches were pushed against the wall, facing a large TV mounted opposite. 

“That’s definitely a word for it,” Frankie closed the door behind you. “Here, gimme your bag.” You had come here straight from the airport, the both of you deciding on the flight back that you didn’t want the weekend to end yet. 

“Sorry it’s a mess,” he said. “I wasn’t really expecting . . .” He burned red, avoiding your gaze. You reassured him you didn’t really give a fuck about the mess; what he considered a mess was cleaner than any other guy’s place you had ever been to. You wondered if that said more about your previous taste in men or men in general. You decided pretty quickly that it wasn’t a you thing.

Frankie gave you a quick tour, the kitchen and the bathroom and his daughter’s room, decorated to the nines in pink and purple, toys strewn across the ground. You took in the photos hung up on the wall in the hallway, recogising the boys in some of them. Others were of a little girl who could only be Laila.

Finally, came his bedroom.

“Is this where the magic happens?” You peered over Frankie’s broad shoulder and into his bedroom as he set your bag down on the carpeted floor.

“Slight of hand, mostly,” he said, “a couple of card tricks.”

You snorted, beelining for his bed. You were exhausted from the trip, and it just looked so damn inviting. You rolled onto your side, tucking your arm under a pillow. “I think you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Hmm? How so?” The bed shifted with Frankie’s weight as he got in beside you. You scooted closer so you were touching.

“I’m in love with this mattress. Like, it’s stupid comfy.” You toyed with the buttons on his shirt as he spoke. “So, unfortunately for you, it’s going to take a lot to get me away from it.”

“You know what?” His lips brushed your collarbone. “I think I’m okay with that.”

You pulled him closer, hooking a leg around his waist. All words were lost as his lips met yours, devouring you with his kiss. 

He groaned into your mouth as he pinned you beneath him, hardness pressing against your abdomen. His callouses scraped down your bare skin as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your pants, slipping down further until he was slick with you.

“Fuck,” you moaned. His lips left yours, trailing kisses down your stomach. 

“Relax, baby,” he murmured. Somehow your pants were off and he was between your legs. 

His tongue, god his fucking tongue. It teased your clit, his fingers curling inside you. Only the top of his curly hair was visible as your thighs squeezed around his head, back arching and hips bucking.

“Not yet,” he pulled away, unbuckling his belt, erection springing free. 

“Fuck me, Frankie,” you pulled him back down against you, skin against skin.

“Say please,” his voice was low in your ear, cock pressing against your entrance. 

“Please, please,” you moved your hips closer to his, desperate in your need for him.

“Good girl.”

Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing beyond you and him. 

~

You could barely concentrate on your data. You had been home for only a couple of days, and back at work for only a few hours, and you couldn’t focus. You were like a teenager all over again, with butterflies and blushing whenever you thought about Frankie, giggles bubbling up at random moments. You decided to take an early lunch, heading out to the shark tunnels. 

The aquarium was quiet today - Tuesdays usually were. A nurse shark swam by, lazy in its course along the bottom of the tank.

You hadn’t told anyone yet about how your weekend away had went, dodging the question when Olivia had brought it up over FaceTime the day after you had gotten home (you had ignored her first call the night before, finding yourself preoccupied in a bed that wasn’t yours). You knew she suspected but was either too tactful or too proud to say anything. For now you decided to let her stew, enjoying the small bubble you and Frankie had created for yourselves. Of course, you knew that bubble couldn’t last forever - life always got in the way. But goddamn if you weren’t going to enjoy it while you could.

You opened your phone and took a quick selfie, being sure to capture the apex predators behind you. I’ve had better dates, you captioned it as you sent it to Frankie. You didn’t expect him to respond - his daughter was back and he was preparing to have her stay for a week. 

He had told you a lot about Laila - his face positively lighting up when he described how she had chosen him for her latest art project about their personal heroes. You had seen more photos than you could count, able to pick out pieces of Frankie in her face, even the way she carried herself in some of them.

He had told you less about his ex, Ariel, simply stating that it had been a very messy break-up and left him feeling like he had made too many mistakes ever to be able to redeem himself. They had broken up not long after he had returned from Colombia, when Laila was still an infant. You remembered the conversation, how his voice had been thick with guilt.

“I went to therapy for a while,” Frankie admitted on your last night with him, drawing random shapes on your bare back with his finger. “It helped. I think I’m a better man than I was. I still have a lot to make up for, things I can’t make up for.”

“Why can’t you?” you turned your head to look at him through sleepy eyes. He was silhouetted by the silvery moonlight coming through his open window. Jeff Buckley played from your phone, Frankie’s choice for the album of the night. 

It’s never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder. 

You had immediately added the song to your playlist when you got home.

“Some things can’t be forgiven,” he said. 

You wondered idly what he had meant by that as you wandered slowly back to the labs, detouring past the octopus tanks. You decided you wouldn’t press him about it, knowing that some things had to come out with time alone. If he trusted you, and you hoped he did, he would tell you what he thought you needed to know. Until then, you would have to make do.

The rest of the day passed by slowly; data from the tags you were tracking gave you nothing new, your phone was on silent and at the bottom of your bag, and anyone who you liked to chat with was out in the field that day. 

“Tell me you also had a slow day,” you said, FaceTiming Olivia as soon as you got home. 

“Fuck no,” Olivia said, “my day was fantastic.” You set your phone up so you could see her as you chopped Mr. Baldwin’s dinner. The tortoise in question was dressed in his shark fin, exploring the area around your feet

“Distract me,” you begged. “Oh, is someone a little lovesick?” Olivia teased. You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer - you weren’t one to lie outright to your best friend.

“Just do it.”

You listened as Olivia launched into a lengthy recap of her day, starting from breakfast (a really good acai bowl) to a significant breakthrough at work (something on a level your brain couldn’t understand). “Oh, and the best part?”

“If something can top molecular biology, I must hear it.”

“I’m not pregnant!”

“I didn’t realise that was something we were worrying about!” You cheered along with her. 

She nodded, turning to pure pixels for a moment. “I was a week late, and you know me I’m like a fucking clock. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, relieved mostly.” Olivia sighed, and you dropped a piece of carrot down to Mr. Baldwin. “It just reaffirmed what I already know.”

“No kids?”

“No kids,” she repeated firmly. “But also . . . I have to have a talk with Jeremy.” You bent and picked up the tortoise, carrying him, his bowl of food, and your phone outside to your backyard. “The relationship talk. I wanna be with him, but we need to know if we’re on the same page with everything.”

You nodded, half listening as your thoughts drifted to Frankie. You wanted it with him, everything you could have you wanted it. You weren’t afraid with him, weren’t worried that it was only going to be a matter of time before shit went south and you were left with a broken heart and an STD. From the moment you had met him, even though you had been too fucking blind to see it, he had been the one for you.

You would tell him that, you decided, when you saw him again. It wouldn’t be for another week, but you were feeling brave and reckless and you knew it could be a huge mistake and that maybe he didn’t feel the same. But. But.

But he might feel the same. You were almost entirely certain he did, and that it would be less like taking a chance and more like speeding up the inevitable. 

“Are you listening to me?” Olivia’s voice cut your thoughts.

“No,” you said. “Sorry, were you saying anything important?”

“Not really,” she said, “I was just thinking we should get hammered this weekend. Maybe down at the Ivy?”

“The Ivy is for annoying twenty-one year olds now, how about you just come over and we drink til our faces are numb?” 

“So long as we watch X Factor auditions and Come Dine With Me.”

“I think you’re my soul mate, Liv.”

She laughed. “I know you’re mine.”

~

You only heard from Frankie once that week, a simple message that made your heart flutter. 

I miss you more every day.

You kept yourself busy, applying for a Winghead expedition in Northern Australia next year. Hammerheads and their subspecies were among some of your favourites, and the expedition had been one you applied to every single year without fail. You hadn’t gotten it yet, but you were feeling lucky.

That was until Friday.

Your phone pinged with a message as you lazed on your couch, your heart sinking as you read it.

I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think this is right. Please don’t contact me, I’m trying to make it work with Ariel.

“Oh.” You set your phone down on your coffee table, holding back the bile that had risen. Of course, of course this would happen. You should have expected it - at some point you had been stupid and stopped expecting it. 

You read the message once, twice, three times over. 

You decided to go to bed, to sleep and wake up and hopefully find that the message was gone, that you were still hopeful and stupid and lucky.

@laichka @paintlavillered @idreamofboobear @pjkimrn @gracie7209 @sunnshineeexoxo @lorosette @fangirl-316 @dihra-vesa @astoryisaloveaffair @theanothersherlockian @pedritobalmando @blub-senpai @maievdenoir @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bobbydearest @icanbeyourjedi @goldielocks2004 @1800-fight-me @littledragonlady @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @ficsbynight @hotchlover @dobbyjen @athalien @vanered15

[book-of-dreams]

I know what the dinosaurs smelled like

They smelled like air conditioning

And shoe polish

And disinfectant

Like carpet cleaner and the base notes of perfume

And a little bit of dust.

They smelled different from the gemstones

And the minerals that sometimes glow.

They smelled a little like the dire wolf

And those tiny horses

But nothing at all like the waterfowl of a riparian environment.

They smell drier, the waterfowl,

And had a mustiness that brought a low grey sky to you.

Different still the mummies

Visiting a many times great aunt

Whose house is cedar

Whose gowns are linen

Whose closed windows capture the ghosts of incense

She doesn’t speak but I look wide eyed

And I believe she sees me

And I believe she loves me still

A tiny nephew she never met

With golden hair

Full of warm blood

And bubbling questions.

[rexxdjarin]

Just some Rex angst as he comes home from battle

Captain Rex x OC: Mari Vontas

Warnings: SFW, Angst, Brief mentions of battle, loss and PTSD

—

After a particularly hard mission, Rex comes home to Coruscant. Bloodied, bruised, dirty and dead tired. His muscles screaming, his lips dry and cracked, his head pounding and his chest aches as his heart breaks a little more inside it.

He trudges down the street, past his barracks, past the weapons depot and the shipyard, past the senate building and toward the senator’s district. The streets are cleaner here and more crowds line the walk ways. Street food carts and market stands waft smells of delicious food he’s never tried and can’t afford past him.

His stomach growls, hunger pain pricking at his perpetually empty insides uncomfortably. He can’t remember the last meal he ate. He wouldn’t have had the time. Searching the battlefield for survivors was how he preferred to spend his post battle time. He could recharge and refuel later. His men needed him.

There were too many gone this time. They were too late to provide any hope for them. As he rounded up his battalion onto their transports, he counted each life missing from their squads. He mentally kept record of each of their names, so they could remember them properly when they got home. So they knew which barracks bunks to clean and which belongings to divide up amongst the beings who loved them.

He counted each one in silence, as his remaining men recovered. Bacta gel was passed around the transport ships and ration sticks were donated from one brother to the next in order of need. Still, he didn’t eat.

He got uneasy and dissatisfying rest on the ship ride home. Each time interrupted by a memory, a battle scar replaying in his mind as it dug itself deeper into his soul. All he had done wrong, what he could have done differently, who he could have saved. It was all there.

When he checked in with the General and was sent home off-duty for the next rotation, his footsteps carried him here. Five districts over and three hundred floors up. He rested his head on her doorframe and punched his code into the keypad. At this late hour, she should be home.

The doors slide open and he practically stumbles inside. He removes his boots as she likes and pulls his bucket off to breathe in the smell of home. He avoids his reflection in her entranceway mirror, he knows how he’ll look. He needs to see nothing else but her.

Quietly, his bare footsteps pad across the marble floor. His toes stretch beyond the confines of his plastoid boots and onto plush carpet as he enters her room. The scents of glow lily and linen wash over him instantly. The ringing in his ears finally subsides as he focuses on the soft breaths emanating from the bed. He sees the gentle movement of her sheets, beckoning him closer with the promise of comfort he hadn’t known for months.

He exhales slowly, a low groan of exhaustion slipping past inadvertently. The bed linens rustle and a voice as soft as bird song and as soothing as rainfall calls out to him.

“Rex?”

He sets his bucket to the floor where he stands, unclipping the rest of his armor to follow suit. Dead-tired and now cold as he stood in his body glove, he approached the comfort of her bedside. He hummed once to respond to her call and peeled back the corner of her blanket to reveal her.

Freshly roused from her slumber, her sleep-heavy lids blinked her awake. Dark eyes sparkled up at him with a mixture of delight and relief. She cooed, sitting up to reach out for him. Dimples dotted both her cheeks as she smiled at him, scooting aside to make room.

He crawled in beside her, absorbing her warmth and collected her into his side with one stroke of his arm. She nuzzled into the span of his chest, her much smaller, more delicate hands clinging to the fabric that covered him. She pressed the softest, featherlight kisses at the top of his collar and cried out little whimpers of relief of her own.

“Missed you.” She mumbled, kissing up his neck and along the length of his jaw. He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on the small of her back. He missed her too. More than anything. Her eyelashes fanned over his cheeks as she left her trail of kisses. Her tenderness, her care, how she touched him so softly when the rest of the galaxy did not. He relinquished himself to her. She would care for him, when he couldn’t do it for himself.

Her hand cupped his cheek and she rested her forehead on his. Her thumb sweeping dust and debris off his cheekbone. He blinked away his exhaustion to gaze up at her gratefully, trying his hardest to find the words to tell her how much he had suffered. Her eyes connected with his, searching through them to find the pain that had silenced him. Her brows furrowed with worry, but her hands held him steady with their fervent caresses.

Their noses brushed, their hands wandered and their lips connected. They kissed slowly, almost endlessly, with all the urgency and affection they had been feeling since their absence from each other. Each time they broke for air, he suffocated without her. Longer and slower their tongues entwined. Just long enough for his pain to begin to subside.

She whispered, her lips just inches from his, “are you alright?” Her big doe eyes impossible to deceive.

“No.” he admitted, grabbing on to her tighter to comfort himself.

She nodded in understanding, just like she always did and pulled her blankets up further to cover him. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked so softly he could barely hear her.

He glanced down at her and felt his chest crack, like all his pent up feelings were ready to erupt from him. Her hands cupped his cheek again and her legs tangled with his, grounding herself to him no matter what was coming for them both.

He sighed, the memories flooding back to him, but her presence keeping him steady, “Ok.”

[animals-why]

The species vacuum cleanii (common name: vacuum-cleaner) is native to carpeted terrains but certain subspecies have adapted to low- and zero-pile habitats. Diurnal in nature, the vacuum-cleaner tends to retreat to small, dark spaces for its long periods of rest. The species is detritivorous despite its typically aggressive, earsplitting vocalizations.

The vacuum-cleaner has a unique, symbiotic relationship with its terrain. Much like many other such pairs, the vacuum-cleaner provides a grooming service to the terrain while helping themselves to an easy meal.

The species has a short life span in the wild due to the tendency to ingest various harmful objects. In captivity, the vacuum-cleaner can live two to three times as long if appropriate intake precautions are made.

[namig42]

Been having a rough day so far. My dog pooped on the carpet in front of me, my fiancee accidentally threw out food I was looking forward to eating, my piano student never showed up for their lesson, and Lowe's didn't have a carpet cleaner for me to rent even though their website said they did.

It's not all bad though. I at least got this picture with a cool skeleton diver.

[jpitha]

The Bedrock Dispatch

And now for something completely different. This was another writing game/contest thing. I was given the theme and the "flash rule" a rule created on the spot that I needed to include in my story. Since the theme was Myths of the Near Stone age and I needed to include Dinosaurs, I was drawn to the Flintstones which I think technically makes this fanfiction? Neat. Anyway, it's completely different to what I normally write.

Theme: Myths of the Near Stone Age Flash Rule: Must have Stampeding Dinosaurs. 1311 words.

****

The housewife grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began to run it back and forth across the carpet in the living room. Its legs tied to a small wooden cart, the pygmy mammoth was forced to use its trunk to suck up the dust and dirt in the small, stylish living room.

Job complete, she put it into the closet with the other appliances. Only after the door was closed did the tiny mammoth cry.

Chores finished, she met her neighbor for drinks, cigarettes, and a shopping trip into town. The clothes washer had died; it had choked on a sock. How was she to know that it could choke on socks? The manual didn’t say anything about that. Her husband threw the dead washer out with the trash that morning and she needed to buy another. Her annoyance over the washer’s death was tempered by the excitement of another shopping trip with her friend.

****

The foreman stood at the edge of the quarry. He watched the animals place massive stones in their mouths, lift them, and then swing them over the edge of the quarry, letting the boulders drop with a heavy thud. Their teeth long ago ground away to painful nubs, the brontosauruses lifted and carried stones while people strapped in little cabins on their back used winches to help, and whips when the animals were too tired to lift.

The crane in the back - number thirty-nine - looked rough. Foam collected on the edges of its mouth and its head would shake as it tried to lift even small stones. The operator fought with the winch and when that failed, used the whip. The foreman frowned and stubbed out his cigarette on the ground in front of him. He was going to have to kill it tonight and get another. He lamented the loss in productivity. It was necessary though. The quarry owner had decreed that production would not slip this month. While he cast his eyes to the other animals in the quarry, a bird tied to a perch a foot above his head watched the sun nervously. He shook silently in fear, but the foreman didn’t notice.

Soon, it was the end of the day. The foreman, watching a sundial on his wrist, pulled hard on the tailfeathers of the bird above him. The bird’s scream of pain signaled the end of the day. A man in the quarry shouted in joy and slid down the tail of his brontosaurus and ran to his car, the animal forgotten or ignored. Someone else would take care of it. If they didn’t? There were plenty of brontosauruses around. They’d just get another.

He made his way home, walked into the house, and kissed his wife as she met him at the door. She handed him a drink and a cigarette. As he passed through the kitchen, he finished his drink and poured another from the iced pitcher on the counter. He glanced at the empty spot in the kitchen where the washer was supposed to be and frowned. He made his way to his backyard and saw his friend and neighbor. “Another beautiful day, eh friend?” He made his way to a comfortable chair under a tree, near the low fence.

“You said it, Fred. Another day in paradise.” The neighbor leaned on his fence. “Hey, I heard that your clothes washer died, did your wife manage all right today?”

Fred took a drag on his cigarette and frowned. “Darned thing choked on a sock; can you believe it? A washer that can’t wash socks. I tossed it with the trash and Wilma went into town and bought another. Probably thirty other things to go with it too.” Fred took a sip of his cocktail and finished his cigarette. He lit another automatically. “Barn, how do you do it? Betty doesn’t seem to run through your paycheck before you even earn it. I feel like I’m paid on Thursday and broke by Sunday.”

Barney hopped the low fence, not spilling his drink or dropping his cigarette and joined Fred at another chair in the yard. “I gotta tell you Fred, the secret is to set some aside before you hand it over. Give her half, you take half. Keep it in the bank, stuff it in your sock drawer, whatever it takes.” Barney sipped his cocktail, a Bourbon old fashioned. “It’s just how they are. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

While Fred and Barney talked, Fred’s lawn mower started screaming. The howling of the mower was loud even though it was in the shed. Fred and Barney got up slowly and slightly unsteadily and made their way over to his shed. As he opened it, he saw the mower, still tied to the little cart, screaming and crying. Its mouth was red and inflamed and blood poured from multiple wounds on its legs. It looked like the mower was trying to bite their legs off. Fred reached down to touch the mower’s legs and it snapped at him. Fred yanked his hand back.

“Did you see that? It tried to bite me!” Fred tipped his rocks glass back and finished his drink, a tom collins. The ice clinked.

Barney sighed and shook his head. “Just goes to show you, things aren’t like they were when we were younger. Once it’s dead, we’ll head to Gimblestones and pick up a new one. Folks have to go further and further out to find new appliances and they never last as long as they used to.” He patted his friend on the back. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it in the morning.”

Fred stared at the lawn mower.

At the dying animal.

At the lawn mower.

At the dying animal.

“No.” Fred shook his head. “This isn’t right, Barn. It’s a living thing. Look at it, it’s screaming. I have to help it.” He reached for the mower again.

Barney put his hand on Fred’s arm, stopping him. “Fred. This is the way of things. This is how things are. This-“ He pointed at the mower. “-is how we have all this.” Barney gestures behind him towards suburbia, towards the rows of small houses with manicured lawns. “Your mower? Your washer? Those are the price we pay for progress.” He let go of Fred’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go have another drink. After, we can head to the lodge. By the morning it’ll be gone, and we can go shopping and get another.”

Fred looked at the mower.

At the dying animal.

At the mower.

He turned away from the mower and looked at Barney. “You’re right Barn. Let’s go get a drink and head out. This is a tomorrow problem.”

Fred closed the door to the shed and walked back inside.

****

The young man stood outside the city. He watched a herd of Brontosaurus thunder across the plain. His partner had spooked them and as expected, they stampeded. Soon they would tire, and he could swoop in. If he was able to capture four of them alive, they could be repurposed in town, and he would make enough money to support his brothers and sisters for another month. He watched them carefully. The quarry. The quarry would buy them. His stomach growled. He had skipped breakfast and lunch to save money. One meal a day was enough, he told himself.

There. Those four. Two adults and two calves lagged behind the rest. He had hoped for four adults, but this was better. He’d get half again more for the calves. They lived longer, took to the yoke better, lasted longer. He kicked his heels on the ground and the jeep took off. Steering towards the animals, he readied his tranquilizer gun and leaned out the window. Today was turning out to be a good day after all.

****

[cleanearthfunfacts]

Title: A Comprehensive Guide to Creating an Eco-Friendly Home 💡🌱🌍 Entertaining Guide on Environmental Awareness, Sustainable Living, and Renewable Energy Solutions | Clean Earth Fun Facts

Introduction:

Welcome to Clean Earth Fun Facts, your go-to source for fun and entertaining facts about our planet and how to keep it clean and green. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore various strategies and tips for creating an eco-friendly home. By incorporating energy-efficient appliances, sustainable building materials, and water conservation strategies, you can reduce your environmental footprint and contribute to a sustainable future. Let's dive in!

Chapter 1: Energy-Efficient Appliances

Understanding Energy Efficiency Ratings

Look for appliances with ENERGY STAR certification

Consider energy-efficient models for refrigerators, washing machines, dishwashers, and more

Lighting Solutions

Switch to LED or CFL bulbs

Utilize natural light through skylights and windows

Install motion sensor or timer switches to save energy

Smart Home Technology

Invest in smart thermostats and programmable HVAC systems

Control lighting and appliances remotely to avoid unnecessary energy consumption

Use power strips to eliminate standby power

Chapter 2: Sustainable Building Materials

Choose Renewable Materials

Opt for sustainably harvested wood and bamboo

Explore alternatives like reclaimed wood or recycled materials

Consider cork or linoleum flooring instead of vinyl or carpet

Energy-Efficient Insulation

Install insulation with high R-value to reduce heat loss

Consider eco-friendly options like cellulose or wool insulation

Seal air leaks to improve overall energy efficiency

Green Roofing Options

Explore cool roofs that reflect sunlight and reduce heat absorption

Consider metal roofing, recycled shingles, or living roofs (vegetation)

Chapter 3: Water Conservation Strategies

Efficient Plumbing Fixtures

Install low-flow toilets and showerheads

Use faucet aerators to reduce water flow

Repair leaks promptly

Rainwater Harvesting

Set up rain barrels or cisterns to collect rainwater for gardening or flushing toilets

Direct downspouts to water plants and trees

Landscape Design for Water Efficiency

Choose native, drought-resistant plants

Group plants with similar water needs

Mulch garden beds to retain moisture

Conclusion:

Congratulations on taking the first step towards creating an eco-friendly home! By implementing the strategies and tips discussed in this guide, you can significantly reduce your environmental impact and contribute to a sustainable future. Remember, small changes can make a big difference. Join us at Clean Earth Fun Facts in spreading awareness and inspiring others to embrace sustainable living. Together, we can make our planet cleaner, greener, and healthier!

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