#need him to fill me like a decadent cream puff

[meownotgood]

i would definetely ask aki to ruin my insides and thank him for it

aki could do whatever the hell he wants to me but the best part is even after telling him that he would only treat me so so softly

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

This Week's Been Nuts So Here's Another WIP

This one features Freya (plus size elf sorcerer) and Astarion, set post-game. I might even be relevant to @dhampling's interests. Veers into NSFW talk pretty quick but nothing happens...yet.

“You’re not coming?” Freya asked, holding out her gloved hand to Astarion. It was the second year in a row they had come to stay a month in the ancestral city of the Wildhearts in the north. They were out at night (of course) with Freya insisting on skating.

“Not tonight, darling, but you go and enjoy. I’ll be right here.” It’s far better to admire her from here and not while wobbling on skates.

She smiled. “Alright, love. Maybe after we can get you some hot spiced wine and something for me.”

He nodded, waving at her as she turned to get onto the frozen river. “Whatever you want, sweetness! I’ll be here!” No matter what, I’ll always be there for her. He sat on a bench and watched her skate along the river. I always take great satisfaction and pleasure from watching her. She’s utterly divine.

Then he saw her helping a child who was about to fall.

Even before their marriage (honestly, before we defeated the Netherbrain), Astarion had researched dhampirs---half-vampires born of a vampire and a mortal. Some books detailed truly horrific experiences of dhampirs who clawed their way out of their mothers. Other tomes stated that those books were salacious nonsense and had accounts of normal dhampir pregnancies. All this information he shared with Freya previously, and her reaction was a simple shrug. “I suppose we can try and see what happens” was what she said. Well, that and “if it doesn’t happen for us that way then we can always adopt.” But I’ve been interested in creating our own little dhampir.

The stirring had grown particularly strong lately. And here it goes again. The urge to…breed her. A not insignificant smirk graced his lips. He knew she loved that kind of talk from him. She melts into our bed each time. What a delectable treat, my sweet is. Astarion was taken out of his increasingly sinful thoughts when he saw her waving at him, skating back to the snow-covered ground. “You done, my love?”

Freya nodded, her freckled cheeks pink. “Yeah. Missed you too much.” She carefully made her way to where he was sitting, a smile on her face. “I can always come during the day tomorrow if I want. I just want to be with you now.” Still smiling, she unlaced her skates.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” He cooed. “Coincidentally darling, I was also thinking the same thing.” If the books are correct, then I simply need enough blood. Enough flowing through me to make our little dhampir. Watching her clean the blades of her skates, he could not help but lean close to her ear. “I want to fill you like the most decadent little cream puff. Stuffed full of my seed until you are bursting, my pretty.” When he heard her squeak, he giggled. “Does that get you excited, Freya darling?” Of course it does. Whether she admits it or not is another matter.

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red. Nearly matches her hair. “I-yes! You know it does! Naughty man!” She stammered, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Why, do you want—”

His lips captured hers in a heated kiss. After a few moments, he tugged on her plump bottom lip with a smirk. “As I said, I want to fill you. And fill you. And fill you. Until…it is certain you are with child.” He gave her a quick kiss before continuing. Oh, her ears are bright red. How adorable! “Well, it might even be ‘children,’ sweetness. Can you imagine having twins?”

Freya’s mouth opened and closed several times. “I…love, we still don’t know if it’s even possible. We’ll try, of course—”

“We will do more than try, darling. We will succeed.” He put the wiped down skates into a leather bag and stood. “In fact, we should succeed and have at least a dozen.” With a toothy grin, he offered his hand.

She sat with her mouth hanging open.

Astarion chuckled, still waiting for her to take his hand. “My love, you said you wanted a large family. A dozen is an…excellent start to making that dream come true.”

[eatvangelist]

Patisserie Bluejay

I haven't been writing much lately - mostly because life events happened and kept me from food blogging. A smaller factor is that while I had lots of good food, I didn't come across anything impressive on repeat, and I rarely blog about anything based upon a one-time good experience. Well, I realized when looking at my (too expensive) credit card bill that I had actually gone back over and over again to one place that I have not blogged about.

Early last year, an Asian/French fusion bakery opened in an unassuming strip mall in Arcadia. Patisserie Bluejay popped up on my food alerts, but while some people raved about it, others were put off by the long wait to enter the store (lines out the door and then some) and how the bakery sold out repeatedly. I waited for about six months before going to check it out for myself, only to find they were closed. Not only that, they were going to stay closed for some time as they were attending a baking convention of some sort. While I was disappointed I missed out, I also liked that they were working hard to continue to improve upon their skills. I definitely wanted to return, but that would take me nearly a year to do so again.

When I went back few months ago, I had a few objectives: 1) buy a birthday cake for my cute nephew; 2) get their giant cream puffs to cheer up my mother; 3) get their legendary caneles for my sister and me. When my family and I arrived, I wasn't sure how successful I would be, as there were only 2 cakes in the display case and a selection of cookies. It turned out we arrived right as they opened, so not everything was put out yet, but I was able to get both their vanilla and coffee caneles and the cream puffs. The birthday cake, I had been warned on social media, needed to be ordered in advance. I thought 3 days were enough, but at the store, there was a sign that clearly said 5 days. I was worried that we wouldn't get the most important part of this mission, but the staff member told us to wait and immediately ran to the back. She came back a few seconds later and said 3 days were fine, but we were limited to 5 flavor options. My sister was secretly hoping my nephew would pick the chocolate one, while I sent him telepathic messages to get the peach oolong, but he picked the fall berries cake. We went back 3 days later to pick up the cake, and I ended up buying more treats, too.

Let's start with the caneles. These were the most authentic caneles I had since I was in Paris a decade ago. They might be even better than the ones I had there. They were crispy on the outside, moist and soft on the inside without the feeling of being dense. This is really hard to get right. So many caneles absorb moisture so they lose the crispy shell, but Patisserie Bluejay's were able to retain that texture. The problem I encountered with other caneles once I got past the shell was the gumminess and heaviness of the pastry, and there was little flavor, too, as it burned out during the bake. Somehow Patisserie Blue managed to keep the inside light and flavorful. I have gone back and bought the caneles often - for myself and as gifts for friends. At $4.50 for each little pastry, it is extravagant but worthwhile.

The cream puffs, which they call punch puffs, also seem pricy at $4.50, are actually the size of two puffs at other bakeries. On top of that, they are filled with delicious vanilla cream. Back in the early aughts, I was addicted to Beard Papa. Patisserie Bluejay's punch puffs completely KO theirs both inside and out. The pastry shell is flakier than Beard Papa's, and the cream is lighter and packed more to the brim. The punch puffs only come in vanilla, and while I would like chocolate or matcha - maybe even black sesame - as an option, I am perfectly happy with only the vanilla. The cream puffs and caneles are not their primary products afterall - that would be their cakes.

The whole cake I purchased was $70. (I mentioned I love my nephew a lot, right?) It was the most expensive birthday cake I ever bought in my life. Was it worth it? Well, based on my nephew's huge smile, yes. It was a special occasion, and while I could have lived without the gold foil if it meant they would knock $10 off the price, I couldn't deny that the presentation, taste, and quality of the cake were better than what you would get at other bakeries. As with everything else I described from Patisserie Bluejay, the cake was light - the sponge, the mousse, the cream. Even if there had not been fruit compote blanketed inside, this cake would have surpassed other berry cakes with the amount of strawberries on top and the flavorful mousse. That compote though brought a berry explosion that was countered by the not-too-sweet cream. I haven't splurged on a whole cake since my nephew's birthday, but I have gone back and bought several other sliced and mini cakes, $7.50 and $8.50, respectively. Sliced cakes are usually the same flavors as the whole cakes they make - the ones I have bought include black sesame cheesecake, mango yuzu, chamomile and pear, and peach and oolong. The flavor profiles are quite unique and all winners. The mini cakes - so far I only bought one, which was their tiramisu, decadent and better than most others I've had.

Patisserie Bluejay has signs all over their store explaining they are a small team and can only produce so much. I've also heard them give this explanation to customers verbally when asked why they don't have more of something. In a move to streamline their operations, they are trying to move as much of their business to pre-orders online. They no longer sell caneles, cream puffs, and sliced or mini cakes on weekdays unless you pre-order them. This bit is tricky, too, as their website (link in second paragraph) only has whole cakes mentioned. I asked them once how do I pre-order if I want something other than a whole cake? They said Instagram, which I've linked to in their info below. They are actually very fast to respond on social media - I bought a sliced cake as a gift for a friend and then recalled she is allergic to pork. I DMed Patisserie Bluejay asking if they used gelatin in the cake I bought, and they quickly confirmed that. It may seem like a lot of trouble to go through to buy something at Patisserie Bluejay with all their rules and restrictions, but I do think they are looking to find the balance between what they can manage without sacrificing on quality for their customers. They are worth visiting - just maybe check out their Instagram page first before heading over.

Patisserie Bluejay

160 E Duarte Road

Arcadia, California 91006

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 28.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings In This Chapter: Use Of A Sex Toy, Lactation Kink, Degradation, Daddy Kink, Begging, Sex Over A Desk, Bratty!OC, Dom!Yoongi, Mentions Of The Color System, Sex Against A Window, Exhibitionism, Praise, Multiple Orgasms, Cream Pie, Insecure!Yoongi

A/N: I’m back from vacation. Here is your weekly dose of Yoongles. Also big ups to my ladies @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna​. Love yall.

Why do people even get married? If you had it your way you would just get married at City Hall with your parents and best friends. But getting married to a CEO is never that easy. Combine that with your raging hormones, sore back and ankles, and your overbearing, over the top best friend… it's all a bit much to handle. Not to mention now that everyone knows who you are, you have eyes on you at all times.

Although, you know how happy Yoongi is about all of this. You can see how he radiates joy with each step as you walk hand in hand together out in public. That pretty much makes it all worth it.

"I'm allergic to coconut," Yoongi breathes out, pushing the plate of wedding cake in front of him away.

You hum in agreement, leaning back into the plush armchair.

"They're all so good, I don't know what to pick." you say truthfully, looking over the multitude of wedding cake samples that are spread across the exorbitantly large dining room table.

"Well, you have… twenty minutes to figure it out." Leena notifies you from the other end of the room.

"You know, you're like a drill sergeant or something," you murmur.

You can hear Yoongi's gentle snigger when she narrows her eyes at you. "My perfect, amazing, gorgeous best friend is only getting married once. It has to be the event of a lifetime. So strap in and call me General Matrimony."

"Hear, hear." your fiance agrees smothering your cheek with a kiss.

"In my opinion the double chocolate fudge with marshmallow Swiss buttercream is the best." Leena decides, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

"Too sweet." you and the CEO reply at the same time.

She sneers at your combined cuteness.

"Are we trying to be disgustingly decadent or classy?" Yoongi quips to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

Leaning your temple against him, your cheeks puff out in thought. "Disgustingly classy?"

Leena points at you with her gold pen. "Love that."

The CEO snorts loudly, running the tip of his nose over your temple.

"If we're being disgustingly classy, we should do the chocolate chiffon cake with the light white raspberry filling." you announce, pointing at the cake in front of you.

"That was really good," Yoongi agrees, planting his hand on your protruding stomach.

Leena looks up at you over her clipboard impressed. "If I knew you were gonna turn into some hoity toity queen, Miss Thing -- I would have shoved you at Yoongi a long time ago." she jeers.

You roll your eyes with a laugh before wincing at a kick that's just a bit too tender on the ribs.

"Honggi. Relax, buddy." Yoongi mutters in your direction.

You had decided on a name last night. It honestly didn't take you long at all. You and your fiance are always on the same page.

Honggi is a powerful name and Yoongi's son should have that prowess and power behind him.

Yoongi came to love the simple word almost immediately and even when you were drifting off to sleep, you could hear the CEO murmuring semblances of the name.

When Leena looks over you both, her sharp and intense features begin to soften. "God, you guys are cute. It's fucking disgusting." she whines, sipping her champagne.

Shaking his head with a laugh your soon-to-be husband seems to agree. "I'm not the one who brings the cuteness here." he chirps, running his thumb in loving strokes over your distended skin.

Leena gives you a moment or two to calm down before hardening her gaze and tapping the famed clipboard with her pen. "Floral arrangements, come on folks! We don't have time!"

"Wedding tyrant." Yoongi breathes playfully, earning a snort from you.

"Good morning, Sir." Shea calls to Yoongi as he gets out of the elevator.

"Hey, Shea. Mornin'." the CEO mutters, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair.

It was no secret that after the unfortunate incident with his mother, you started to despise Kira. You never said anything of course, you were too kind for that. But Yoongi knew, he always knows. So he did what he thought was best and let her go. He did however give her a gigantic 'keep quiet' sum of money as well as having her sign a NDA. He wasn't about to let the woman that's kept him company many times throughout many years go blabbering at the mouth due to being disgruntled.

"You have two meetings today and then after lunch you have a few contracts to sign." Shea explains.

Yoongi likes that she's strictly business. And more importantly, she doesn't look at him like he's a piece of meat on sale at the butchers.

"Thanks." he breathes, picking up his coffee from the reception desk.

"Oh! And your fiance called!" she beams.

He knows she's a fan of your artwork and just the mention of you has both of them smiling like idiots. Nothing like simping to start off the day.

"Oh? Is she okay?" he inquires, pulling out his phone.

"She said she's bringing you lunch, so don't eat." Shea instructs.

He hums thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I'm pretty lucky. Huh?" he quips, heading towards his office.

The day goes by slower and slower with each passing minute. He equates it to being away from you and his son if he's being honest.

The meetings are all the same. Boring and tedious with glasses of whisky to take the boredom even slightly away.

The old men that seem to run the company beneath him have more to say about the project managers than their own jobs. It's almost baffling.

But when Yoongi gets the solace of being in his exorbitantly large office again on his own, he finds peace there.

Shea wasn't too forthcoming with just how many contracts he has to sign and the stack of them on his desk makes his eye twitch.

"God, when is lunch?" he breathes, turning around in his large chair to look at the sonogram painting of his son you so artfully created.

Digging into his suit pocket, he looks for the trusty gold pen he uses to sign documents -- but he feels something else first. It's small, fitting in his palm and his eyebrows furrow. When he pulls it out, he can't say he isn't confused.

You did pick out his suit this morning, much like you do every morning but he's never had a remote in his pocket before.

Picking up his phone, he's immediately intrigued.

The phone rings loudly in his ear and suddenly he's forgotten all about work.

"Hello?"

"Little dove." his voice sounds confused and playful at best.

He examines the small black remote, having no idea what on Earth it's for.

"Yeah?" you quip back.

"I found a remote in my pocket. Any idea why?" he prods, his eyebrows flickering up expectantly.

The hum of uncertainty you give makes him all the more curious.

"No. Why is there a remote in your pocket? Did you take the garage remote instead of your car key?" you inquire.

It's simply ridiculous but now he's questioning himself. "What? No! Then how would I have gotten to work?"

He presses the 'On' button and flips it over in his hand expectantly.

"Oh God," you whisper softly.

"You okay? Is Honggi kicking a lot?" Yoongi asks, putting down the remote to give you his full attention.

"N-No. I was just surprised. I'm in the car, now on my way over to your office."

Your voice sounds breathless and strange all at once and for the first time… probably ever -- Yoongi doesn't take it sexually. "You better tell Minho to be careful driving, you hear me?"

"Mhm." you gasp softly.

"Well if you didn't put this thing in my pocket, I don't know how it got here then." Yoongi murmurs, pushing more buttons on it curiously.

"Oh my God, Minho drive faster!" you squeak out.

The CEO is completely at odds with what's happening. "You alright?" he inquires curiously.

"I just really need to… pee." you babble.

You sound dazed and lost, even needy all of a sudden.

"I'm sure. Honggi is getting big." your fiance agrees, drawing imperfect shapes on his desk with the tip of his finger.

"I'm here. I'll be right up, Daddy." you whimper, hanging up on him.

He pulls the phone away from his ear, eyebrows completely furrowing. "What's wrong with her?" he bleats.

He's signed a total of three documents by the time you make it upstairs.

Just hearing your sweet voice interacting with Shea in the far distance sends his heart absolutely pounding with excitement. Seeing you sometimes gives him the adrenaline of bungee jumping or cliff diving.

When the doors of his office burst open, he can't help the gummy smile that spreads over his features.

He takes in your attire and suddenly he's confused. You're wearing a stylish black trench coat that flourishes out at the bottom, but he can't see the dress you're wearing beneath it.

"What dress are you wearing that doesn't cover your mid thighs?" he asks, pushing back his desk chair to stand up tall.

Your fingers are shaking and you hurriedly slam the door shut. When you lock the both of you inside his large office, he knows something is weird.

"Y/N?"

Turning around to him with your back flush to the door, he can see how colored your cheeks are. Your lips are parted like your gasping for breath and your eyes are low with lustful intentions.

He finds something in his gut stirring at the sight of you.

"Baby? You okay?" he prods, rounding his desk.

Your fingers fumble with the belt around your belly which keeps the trenchcoat in place.

It's almost amusing how flustered you are.

You don't seem to be in any pain and Yoongi takes this all in as strange.

He leans back against the desk, waiting patiently for you to reply.

"I'm fine!" you assure him, shoving open the coat.

If his eyes could widen any larger, they'd probably pop out of his head.

You stand before him, scantily clad in thin, lace lingerie.

"Baby!" he gawks, rushing towards you to cover you up.

He can't help the way his cock begins to stir below the belt at the sight of you.

"What're you doing?" he hisses, gripping both sides of the trench coat.

You whimper gently, hooking your hand around his neck to pull him down to your height. He allows you to kiss him, he can feel the fervent need coming from your lips. His hands slowly slide from the coat to beneath it, feeling the soft skin of your belly.

"Want you," you gasp, pulling one of his hands between your thighs.

He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips and it all makes sense now. He groans loudly, pulling you back in for a fierce and passionate kiss.

His teeth nibble gently at your bottom lip and in all honesty, he's astounded by your forwardness. It's rare to see you like this but when your hormones are raging and in charge of your brain… who is he to stop you?

"You naughty little dove." he jeers, pulling you towards his desk.

"What's got you so playful today?" he inquires, pushing the multitude of contract folders aside.

He helps you up onto the desk, spreading your legs with a wanton groan.

The clit and g-spot vibrating sex toy you had recently spoken about sits between your sodden pussy lips. Yoongi can see how wet you are through the thin lingerie and it makes his heart beat faster at the sight.

"Just wanted to," you whimper, spreading your legs wider.

Stepping between your limbs, his hands can't seem to separate from your soft skin. Reluctantly, he leaves your belly to tug down the cups of your bra. Your breasts spring out, swaying and dribbling milk languidly.

"You're leaking milk in public, like a little cum slut."

His dominance is overwhelming to your senses and you can only nod fervently in agreement.

"I'm your cum slut. I'm yours." you babble, wrapping your hand around his tie and pulling him towards you.

It's not like this extreme horniness has come from nowhere. In fact, you've been in pain from kicks and punches from your growing son for a week or so now and the one day you don't feel any pain at all -- the most pressing horniness you've ever felt has overcome you.

His lips are soft and warm against yours. They draw you in like a fly to honey and you're enraptured with the man you're in love with.

"I never thought you'd turn up at my office like this, little dove." Yoongi murmurs, pressing soft kisses to the column of your neck.

"I'm so horny, I'm going to pass out!" you complain, reaching for his belt.

He can hear the sheer neediness in your voice and it sends him into overdrive.

"I'll take care of you, baby girl. Don't worry." he assures you, cupping your breasts and gingerly swiping his thumbs across your leaking nipples until you're sobbing with relief.

"D-Daddy!" you whine, unbuckling his belt.

The way your voice peaks makes his eyes immediately rise to the double doors of his office.

"You're gonna have to be a little quieter for me, babe. I'm at work." he murmurs, kissing your lips softly.

You whimper, giving him an understanding nod.

"Good girl," your fiance praises, wrapping his lips around your nipple.

Your hand cups your mouth when you gasp loudly. Shaking like a leaf, your body is quite literally vibrating with sexual need.

He sighs gently against you, adoring you for all you're worth. One hand pinches and rolls your forsaken nipple while the other caresses your stomach.

The vibrating with you seems to only get faster and you're so stimulated that fat tears of pleasure begin to roll down your cheeks.

"Feels good, little dove?" Yoongi coos around your nipple, enmeshing his fingers into the sides of your underwear. In mere seconds it becomes strings in his hands. He groans against your skin gently, tucking your destroyed undergarments into his suit pants pocket.

"S-So good! Fuck," you moan, shoving down his pants.

The sight before you has you licking your lips expectantly. His cock is already throbbing with need and it's a welcome sight.

One thing you can always count on with Yoongi is his complete and utter patience when it comes to pleasing you. His cock could be fucking purple with need and he would still take his time making sure you're satisfied first.

His fingers run over the smooth silicon of the sex toy and he shivers visibly at the vibrations. "How's it feel, baby? You like the new toy?" he inquires, kissing over the valley of your breasts.

You hum in agreement, lifting your hips slightly begging him to touch you.

You can feel your veins coursing with white hot pleasure, it feels like electricity firing through every pore in your body.

When his fingers slide over your opening, he can't help but choke on a moan. "God, your cunt is soaked. Shit." he curses, dipping a finger into your heat.

"You're gaping for my cock, Jesus Christ." he breathes out.

Yoongi knows he probably isn't going to last long. It's been awhile since you've fucked and his hand is nothing compared to being inside of you. Combine that with the new vibrator inside you, it's definitely going to be a tough feat.

"Fuck me over the desk like an animal!" you beg of your soon-to-be husband.

His eyes seem to widen at your forwardness but he can't say he doesn't love it.

"Anything for you, baby girl."

Your whimpers of anticipation have his bottom lip tucking tightly between his teeth.

"How'd I get so lucky to have such a gorgeous woman as my wife? Huh?" he whispers, running his hands over your back and sides.

You don't answer him, only pushing your hips back and wiggling your ass to show just how needy you are.

"I'm coming baby, relax." he promises, palming both globes of your ass in hand.

Your breathing is shallow and your mind is swimming as you wait for him. The vibrations against your most sensitive parts feel so amazing, so raw but it's not enough -- you want his consent to cum. You need it.

Yoongi picks up the small remote, testing the speeds and he realizes which you like more depending on your breathing and small moans. He's toying with you right now, enjoying the obscene amounts of arousal dripping down your soft, fleshy thighs.

His eyes are focused on your cunt, watching from behind as it twitches and spasms around the small device inside of you.

"Daddy, please!" you whine, lifting your head to look back at him.

When you do look back, you see his cock flat on his palm. He pumps it in hand a few times, cursing gently at the sight before him.

"Aren't you just a pretty little pregnant whore for me?" he quips, running his hand from your back to cup your stomach.

The weight of your belly in his hand has him almost in a frenzy then. Pressing the weeping head of his cock to your entrance, his lips press into a thin, hard line when he feels the vibrating sensations flow through him.

"Oh fuck," he hisses softly, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Yes!" you breathe out, pushing back to welcome him into your swollen cunt.

He groans then, welcoming your warm heat around him inch by inch.

"Feels so fucking good, baby girl. Jesus." he moans, taking a moment  for you to adjust to his size.

Grabbing the remote once more, he turns it onto the fastest speed and the gasps you collectively emit seem to sound like they're all around you.

He's forgotten he's at work, he's forgotten what he's supposed to be doing because the most important thing right now is you -- and your swollen, greedy sex is all he needs.

With the pleasurable vibrations added, all Yoongi wants to do is fuck you so hard that you'll both cum and be pleased in minutes. But he's never been the type to leave a sexual experience so early.

Folding over, his chest presses to your back and his fingers intertwine with yours.

His lips feel like heaven against your warm, flushed skin. He suckles small marks against the side of your throat, coloring you as his own.

His thrusts are hard and filling but slow. He'd give anything to hear skin slapping against skin right now but then he's reminded that he's at work.

Your hands grip harder onto the edge of the desk as you rut back against him.

"Your cock is so big," you whine, closing your eyes to become enraptured in the whole experience.

"Yeah? You like my big cock in this pregnant cunt?"

You nod fervently, trying to bite back the loud moans that threaten to tear past your lips. It's all too much and suddenly your orgasm is approaching like a rapid waterfall.

"Don't you dare," your fiance threatens, lifting himself up and gripping the back of your neck.

"Please Daddy. Need to cum," you beg, feeling your body quake with the ever pressing need of relief.

"Oh no, I don't think so. You show up to my office, you wait until I say you can cum."

You whine in defiance, pushing your hips back against him harder and he's surprised at your brattiness.

"Don't you dare cum." he warns you.

Your eyebrows furrow with need and you couldn't care about the punishment you're going to recieve. You're honestly not sure what's come over you, you've never defied him before but right now it's getting you more excited to not listen to him.

Pushing past the control of his orgasms, you lose yourself on his cock. Your high is filled with galactic stars behind your eyelids and white noise filled ears.

"You brat," he gasps, pulling out of you.

It's a smug grin the spreads over your face now before your cringing at the overstimulation of the sex toy. He takes pity on you in that regard, shutting the toy off and pulling it out of you. Tossing it onto his desk, he points his finger in your direction. "You're in trouble." he breathes out, jerking his hard cock in hand.

Now that you've arrived back down to Earth, you're worried. You've never defied him before and you've never seen his wrath.

"You just woke up a brat today, didn't you?" he seethes, helping you stand back upright.

You pout, shaking your head quickly in hopes that he won't be too strict on you. His narrowed eyes chill you to the bone.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I just couldn't help cumming. I was so horny. I'm sorry," you apologize profusely, running your hands over his clothed chest.

He hums unimpressed, combing his fingers through his hair.

"If only people knew what a cumwhore I have on my hands." he murmurs through his teeth.

You frown up at him, begging him to forgive you with puppy dog-like eyes.

"No. You don't get away with being a brat that easily," he deadpans.

Nodding to the large floor to ceiling windows, he taps his foot incessantly.

"Go stand by the window." he orders.

You look down at your naked body before looking back up at him in confusion.

"Wh-"

"What's your color?" he cuts you off, running his hand over your belly.

"G-Green," you chirp out, looking at the window.

"Then go stand up against the window." he instructs, beginning to stroke his cock once more.

"Why?" you inquire curiously, doing as told.

"So people can see what a cumwhore I have on my hands," he whispers into your ear. The heat of his breath has something unfurling inside of you once more.

Bracing your hands against the window, you turn back to look at him just in time to see him situating the vibrator between his fingers.

The quiet thrumming of the sex toy makes your breath hitch with anticipation.

"Spread your legs," your fiance commands, pressing his chest flush to your back.

You're so high up you're almost certain no one could see you but excitement still courses through you.

His hands wrap around you like strong chains and you hum in appreciation.

"I love you," you remind him, turning and kissing his cheek.

He softens at your words, kissing over your shoulder with his plush lips. "I love you too, brat." he murmurs.

His words make you snort gently but it's quickly cut off by a loud gasp. He presses his hand to your swollen clit and the smug grin he gives you sends a chill through your spine.

Your forehead presses to the chilly glass of the window and you mewl as his legs knock yours open farther.

His cock slides between your sodden folds a few times before entering back inside of you.

"Oh my God," you whine, backing your hips up to him.

"Pretty little thing," he praises, kissing over your neck. "What do you think, little dove? You think people can see me fucking your pregnant cunt from all the way down there?"

His thrusts become rougher and harder, cursing all the while.

The vibrations that ricochet through you are once again pushing you towards the edge at a surprisingly rapid pace.

"Don't even," he seethes, feeling how your cunt trembles around him.

His grunts and the sweet whispers of your name enrapture your ears.

The sight that greets Yoongi's eyes could make him almost blow his load in that very second.

"Your milk is leaking onto the glass, oh fuck." he whimpers, fucking into you harder and faster.

"Gonna cum!" you cry to him, scratching your nails against the window.

He doesn't even respond, chasing his own high as your cunt threatens to milk him for all he's worth.

"Oh little dove!" he gasps.

His thrusts become sloppier and his breath hitches at the prospect of cumming inside of you.

"Yoongi, please!" you beg, spreading your legs wider.

"You think you deserve it?" he quips, running his hand over your belly bump.

"Yes," you whimper, pushing back against him with each thrust.

"Cum." he commands, pressing his forehead into the junction between your neck and should.

He holds you up easily as you orgasm around him. You become a blubbering mess, crying out his name softly like a prayer.

"God, I love you." he seethes through his teeth.

His teeth clench down on his bottom lip as he cums, trying to quiet his final moans.

You both stay like this for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company.

"Are you upset with me?" Yoong inquires, pulling out of you slowly.

Your eyebrows furrow at his worried tone. "Huh? Not at all, why?"

"You never act bratty or defy me… Did I do something wrong?"

You've spoken about this before actually. Yoongi is prideful when it comes to your sub slash dom relationship. He beams with satisfaction knowing that he keeps you so pleased you don't act out of character. For you to have been just the slightest bit bratty, it probably shook up his confidence.

"No, it's just my hormones I think, I wanted to be a little sassy," you explain, sitting down on his lap when he beckons you.

He hums unsurely, hooking his chin over your shoulder. "I'm a good dom to you when we have sex, right?" he asks, kissing your temple.

"Always. You always make me feel safe and dominated," you promise, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking down at the sex toy tossed casual aside on his desk. "Felt good," he murmurs, running his hands over your sides.

You give him a large smile, nodding in agreement. He can't help but snort at your joyful expression.

"Well regardless of your bratty hormones, I'm happy you came to distract me from my work." your fiance murmurs, pulling the cups of your bra back up.

"You're always happy to be distracted from work." you quip, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods thoughtfully, letting his fingertips graze over your outer thigh. "Very true." he beams, kissing your shoulder.

When your skin begins to raise with goosebumps, he's quick to cover you with the trenchcoat you discarded a while ago in your sudden heat of passion.

It's your stomach that rumbles first with the need for food and sustenance before he acts accordingly also.

"Oh yeah, where's the lunch you promised me?" the CEO inquires, tying the belt of your coat back in place.

"I gave it to you." you reply with a wide smile.

He looks over at the window before shaking his head with a laugh. "Alright, that's it. Get your pretty butt to the car, I'm taking us home for lunch."

Just talking about food in general has you jumping up with excitement. "Are you coming back to work after?" you prod, watching as he pulls up his boxers and suit pants.

"Nah, I'll just take the contracts home with me now so I don't have to come back. Besides, I didn't correct your errant behavior like I wanted too." he whispers, pecking your lips softly.

Leaning back on the desk, your head begins to tilt. "Well, you should get all your punishment in before six. Leena is coming over to discuss place settings for the wedding."

He groans gently, fixing his suit jacket until it looks seemingly pristine. "Why are you best friends with a tyrant? Remind me again?"

Your giggle echoes through the large office and he adores the sound, it courses through him like new life.

Scooping up the contract folders, he looks over to the window before smiling to himself. "Y'know I'm never cleaning my window again, right?" he quips, watching as you pull open the doors to his office.

"That's disgusting," you quip back, holding out your engagement hand so he can hold it.

Kissing the top of your head, he laughs. "Yeah, I am."

Next Chapter ------>

Third Wheeling Taglist -  @wickizer​, @imluckybitches​, @slothykrueger​, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland​, @rspbrryy​​, @iv-bts​, @bambuzlee​, @chanelbts​, @mxxngxdss​, @bluewhale52​, @milesjeon11​​, @diamonddia-mond​​, @vinylphwoar, @xnxy97​​, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn​​, @bts-7beauts​​, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace​​, @eclectically-esoteric​​, @nikkiordonez12​​, @kaitswrld​​, @skamlover200​​, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria​​, @jikooksgirl19​​, @hobbledehoy26​​, @singular-itae​​, @dchimminie​​, @lowlifeoeuvre​​, @sugaslittlekookies​​, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth​​, @softysuho​​, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire​​, @betysotelo18​​, @jeonmisha​​, @iwanttohitmyself​​, @ayyyocee​​, @neverthefirstchoice​​, @itsbangtanoclock​​, @little7bitchh​​, @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​, @deathkat657​​, @firstlovesuga-93​​, @namjoonia​​, @paperpurple​​, @muzikabijou​​, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites​​, @kleff03​​, @ruinsofangels​​, @brightwingr5​​, @leekanchol​​, @rkivemagic​​, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside​​, @melaninkpops​​, @y00ngisbabygirl​​, @ungodlyjoon​​, @prochnost513​​, @dunixxd​​, @athenakyle​​, @igotnotype​​, @chxmachxps​​, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog​​, @alpaca1612​​, @ohcarolinamin​​, @thegreatestsushi​​, @eltrain80​​, @btsmylife21​​, @deeepvibes​​, @httpminyg​​, @deliciouslydisturbed365​​, @rkchmestizangmaldita​​, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie​​, @preciouschimine​​, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet​​, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii​​, @kooafraid​​, @ladykadyrova​​, @singjisu​​, @yazanii​​, @moonlitmyg​​, @justzeera​​, @absolutefantrash​​, @whocaresarchives​​, @loosewindmill, @vantesfx​​, @bt21chim​​, @flowerboyhobi​​, @kozuume-kenma, @taepiper​​

Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 2

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start asking questions but you might not like the answers.

Note: I’m a filthy liar and this is gonna be obv more than two parts and I dunno what I’m doing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office was the room across the hall from Andy’s, just beside the bathroom and furthest from your mother’s.

You had a routine; it helped you keep on track. You woke up, had a coffee and a small breakfast, and climbed back upstairs to begin your work. At noon, you took a break, you went for a walk or just sat on the porch with your mother if she wasn’t in her room. You returned to work and later in the afternoon you came down to remind your mother about her pills. Then you started dinner as the day was in its final decline.

Andy only changed that slightly. He woke earlier than you did and was on his way out as you got up. He came home around dinner time and you left a plate for him in the oven if he was late. He was quiet, he ate, and went upstairs. The first week went by as such. You almost pitied him for living in what seemed a crowded isolation.

Then the weekend came. Like the other lumber workers, he had those two days to himself. It would be the first real test of your arrangement.

You woke at your usual time and went down to make your coffee. You only wrote for a couple hours on weekends. Breaks were good. You measured the grounds into the percolator and filled it with water. You turned on the decades old stove and turned as you heard the old stairs groan.

Andy appeared in the door. He wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater. His hair, overgrown and shaggy, was pushed away from his face, his beard a shade darker and starting to puff out from its length. You suspected that as a lawyer, he never looked so unkempt and yet even now, he still managed to look refined.

“Hate to be selfish but you think there’s enough for me?” He crossed to the table and sat. 

“Should be,” You rubbed your hands together. You wore an old sweatshirt with a grizzly on the front and your old faded jeans with the bleach stain on the knee. Unfashionable but warm. ‘“Cream, milk, sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” He said as he scratched his chin. “I was thinking today I could stock us up on wood for the fireplace. Since it’s snowing now, it’s better to get it done before the winter is really here.”

You squinted at him and played with the frayed cuff of your shirt. “So, you got a lot of snow in the city?”

“Not as much as here, I’m sure.” He let out a long breath and you saw the cloud in front of him. 

You paused and listened for the rattle of the furnace. “Fuck.” You pushed yourself away from the counter. “I gotta light the furnace.”

“Where is it? I’ll do it.” He offered. “Since you made the coffee.”

“You sure?”

“Think I can handle it,” He stood. “City boy and all.”

“Basement door’s outside. It’s a pain but this place is old and not very well put together.” You said. “There’s a lighter in the drawer.” You pointed at the counter. “Thanks. Oh, and the key too. Hanging by the door with the green tag.”

“Alright,” He crossed to the door. “Think I’ll figure it out.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with his big boots. He put them on before the back door and unlocked it. He tramped down the steps as the door clattered behind him and you listened to his crisp footsteps. 

You wrung your hands as you thought. Nice enough, you surmised, but evasive. Maybe he wasn’t running from some heinous offense but he was trying to get away from something. You could tell by the way he always seemed to direct the conversation, especially when it turned on him.

You heard the sudden rumble of the furnace and the vents hissing. You turned as the percolator began to shake almost in tandem and the small glass knob bubbled with brown coffee. You took it off the burner as the basement door squeaked and the jingle of the key accompanied the snowy steps across the yard.

Andy kicked off his boots and slipped through the back door. He hung the key and he shook the snow from his hair and smoothed it back. He left his boots on the mat as you poured two mugs. He approached and you slid one to him. He took it with a soft thank you.

You added milk to yours and sat at the table as he did the same. You regretted it almost immediately. You should've taken it up with you and hid in your office. 

"Any plans today?" He asked. You blinked and he rested his palm against the hot mug. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Nah, nothing planned," You replied. "So you just plan on chopping wood on your day off?"

"Not much else to do up here. It's nice. Mindless." He shrugged.

"You have a lot you don't want to think about?" You wondered.

His jaw ticked as he eyed you and his lips curled slightly.

"Don't we all?"

"You'd have to to come all the way up here from wherever you're from." You commented. 

"Hmm," He chuckled under his breath. "You'd make a good prosecutor. You don't miss a lot."

"I'm a writer. I write about people, so I gotta study them closely."

"I thought you wrote about animals."

"That's what I'm paid to write about but… I have my own projects." You lifted your mug and tasted the rich brew.

He sucked his bottom lip in as his thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. "Uh huh," He uttered carefully. "Guess that's true then."

"So… is it too much to ask why you ditched being a lawyer?" You asked.

"You do anything long enough and you get bored."

"And you never did anything else? Never got married?" You prodded.

"Well, what about you?" He challenged as he hooked two finger through the handle of his mug. "Not many fish in this pond, huh."

"Touche," Your lips slanted, "You definitely are the lawyer type."

🍂

Later that day, after you gave your mother her second round of pills, you ventured out into the forest that skirt around the old property. The snow was only just past your ankles, the powder fell in spurts but didn’t seem to get much deeper. When you were met with a block or an impasse in your writing, you always came out to the trees to clear your mind. You were done for the day but you had a long week ahead of you.

You kicked the snow of a fallen tree by the river and listened to those critters not yet in hibernation in the blanket branches above. You thought about the man staying in the room next to yours and the answers he would give you; the questions you were too afraid to ask him. 

He wasn’t telling you everything, perhaps he didn’t owe you everything, but the lines in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes, the depth of his irises as they watched you. There were things you needed to know about a person and you feared you didn’t know enough about this stranger you’d invited in. You had been too intent on the money, on your own keeping.

Or maybe you were paranoid. You were starting to sound like your mother when she claimed the birds were listening to her and taking the messages back to the monsters of the forest. When she had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out for fear you were one of them in disguise. The day it had all fallen apart.

Your nose was numb and tingling. You pulled your scarf up over your face and turned back. The snow was crisper now. The temperatures fell with the sun and that happened quickly in the winter. The sky was a dark grey as you came back to the house, the chimney billowed up toward the quarter moon and a soft amber light shone between the curtains of the front room.

You dusted your boots off before you stepped inside. The voice didn’t stop as you took off your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. You slid your boots off and listened. The scene was unexpected as you peeked into the front room.

Your mother sat with her favourite blanket over her legs before the fire. A fresh stack of wood sat beside it, the basket full of split logs as well. Andy bent to poke at the embers and send up sparks as he got the fire going higher.

“So, this book you’re reading,” He said as he set the poker aside. “Did she get away yet?”

“I don’t think she’s gonna,” Your mother replied as Andy stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t think that’s what the story’s about.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked up and his eyes met yours. You moved so that you stood in the doorway. “But I guess that’s truer to life. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

“Well, I’ve been taking my time because it doesn’t have an ending. Yet.” She explained. “I’m waiting for her to finish.”

Your blood went cold. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

“What book is this, ma?” You asked.

She looked around the chair at you and blanched. Andy sat on the sofa and you pushed yourself away from the door frame. Your mother shook her head. 

“I told you not to read my stuff.” You grimaced as you came closer. “It’s a first draft. Unfinished, unedited. It’s… personal.”

“From what she says, it’s pretty good regardless,” Andy offered. “Can’t blame her for her curiosity.”

You looked at him sharply and sighed as you dropped your arms.

“Whatever. Just don’t look at it again til I’m done.” You reprimanded. “Please. I’ll give you a look when I’m ready.”

“Dunno why it’s such a big deal. You write for the magazine all the time.” She grumbled.

“Because this isn’t an article on leaf fauna, ma,” You rubbed your cheek. “You already eat?”

“Just about to. Andy put a casserole in the oven.” She smiled. “Never knew a man who cooked. Your father, he couldn’t even salt his own eggs.”

“Mmm,” You sniffed as the smell of the burning wood melded with another more savoury scent. “Well, thank you, Andy. That was considerate. I’m sorry I waited so late, I was a bit distracted.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Really, the least I can do.”

You glanced between him and your mom. She hadn’t been this awake in ages. Her meds usually had her napping until dinnertime and asleep just as quickly after. She was vibrant and more friendly to this man than people she’d known for decades. You felt as if you’d walked in on something. 

“Well, let me know. I’ll be upstairs.” You backed up. “There’s some strudel left from yesterday we can have for dessert.”

You left them and stopped at the bottom of the stairs as you looked back into the front room. Andy’s voice droned as he spoke to your mom and as she chuckled his eyes found yours. They narrowed for just a moment before he turned back and smiled at the older woman. 

Nice enough, you presumed, but why didn’t you believe it?

🍂

The next day, you watched Andy through the window. The snow was thicker, a harbinger of the storm that had been brewing for over a week. He crossed to the trees, his boots barely higher than the blanket below. He sank down with each step. Only a fool would venture out as the windows billowed and flung the snow errantly.

You tore yourself away and pulled the curtain shut. You crept out into the hall and listened. Your mother slept late that day and when you gave her her pills, she’d just rolled over and fallen back to sleep. 

You neared the door of Andy’s room and your hand hesitated on the knob. You took a breath and twisted it. You entered and were struck by the man’s smell; of his sweat and the deodorant that always lingered around him. The bed was made and the room barely looked lived in. 

You walked slowly to the closet. Flannel shirts and jackets hung within above a single suitcase.

You felt a pang of guilt. Had you not just chided your mother for her snooping? You bent and unzipped the bag. It was empty. You checked the pockets; empty too. You stood and slid the door back into place. You went to the bed, the table next to it with the drawer that didn’t quite shut all the way and you wiggled it open.

The bible your mother left in there as if it were a hotel and pack of smokes. You’d never seen Andy smoke, never even smelled it on him. You took the carton and flipped open the top. Inside, a folded picture. You tiptoed to the window and looked out. His footprints faded into the trees.

You slid the photo out and opened it with shaky hands. It was Andy, shorter hair, trimmed beard, smiling, his arm around a dark-haired woman and a young boy in front of them. You folded it quickly and pushed it back behind the sticks in the pack. You placed it as you had found it and forced the drawer shut. 

Was he running from his own family? Or maybe, what had happened to them?

You fled his room and closed the door guiltily. You were only more confused than before. You descended the stairs and hastily pulled your coat from the hook. Your hat was pulled on carelessly and you tied your boots without thinking. You pushed your hands into your gloves and angled yourself out the door. It was fucking cold; the fleece lining of your coat made little difference.

You grunted as you forced your boots through the snow and followed Andy’s tracks as they filled with a new layer of powder. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you were doing it. What could he be doing all the way out in the woods which would be incriminating?

You went on, even as the questions floated in your mind. You followed his large boot prints, placing your feet in them as you followed his path. You came to a stop before the river, the overturned tree showed where someone had brushed aside the snow. The tracks veered off away from the log and you looked around.

You were forced back into an upright trunk, the breath knocked out of you as Andy pinned you with his arm across your chest. His eyes seared into you as he leaned his weight into you and you gasped for air as you smacked his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?” He growled.

“What? Andy, let me--” You gasped, barely able to breathe, the snow clumping in your lashes. “And--”

“Hmm? I see you watching me. I see the way you look at me.” He hissed. “I help you, help your mother and what? What do you think I am?” He grabbed your chin, his hide glove rough against your skin. “Am I that villain you write about? Is that what you think?”

“No, I…” You smacked him again and again. “I was just---” He let off just a little as you gulped for air. “There’s a storm. You shouldn’t be out here--”

“You think I can’t handle a storm?” He snarled. “You’re not a very good liar and trust me, I’ve known a lot of liars.”

“Let go of me.” You pleaded. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I followed you, okay? I was just… curious.”

“Uh huh,” He turned you and forced his arm around your neck as he bent you over. You kicked as he dragged you through the snow towards the river. “WHat do you think? I’m hiding some big secret like one of those books you read?”

“Let--go,” Your feet slid through the blanket below. “Stop! What are you--”

“You think I’m what? A criminal? A murderer!?” He pulled you up and spun you away from him. You stumbled backwards as you faced him. 

Your boots slid beneath you and you hearth the hard thunk of your sole against the the ice. Thick but not thick enough. You held out your hands as you looked down at the river coursing below the brittle surface. Your heart raced in your ears. You tried to take a step forward but he was at the bank, watching you.

“Ah ah,” He raised his hand. “You stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?” You pushed your feet apart. “Andy--”

“Terrible accident you falling through the ice like that. There’s just so much snow, you can’t really tell where the water begins.” He smiled and tucked his hands in his pocket as you heard the slow crack beneath you. “Your mother will be devastated.”

You swallowed as your eyes wetted and you looked between him and your feet. You lifted your boot and the snap below you had your heart in your throat. You plunged into the freezing water with a shrill shriek, your arms flying up to grab onto the ice. 

The frozen sheet broke as you tried to latch on and you kicked as the water soaked your coat and dragged you down into the depth further. You flapped helplessly and spun in circles in the waves. The water filled your lungs and you choked and you stared up through the frigid foam, the blurry shadow staring down at you.

The cold bit deep into your flesh and your limbs weakened the more you struggled. The water smothered you and your body spasmed in the thralls of finality. Your eyes rolled back and the dark water flowed around you in welcome.

[nafeary]

Theodorus Van Gogh’s Reaction to MC majoring in Pastry Arts

✧✎ A/N: Requested by: @cidylee

Usually, I would have gone with a major considering his art involvement, but I want these headcanons to be FLUFFY which didn’t work out too well with Arthur’s. I need insurance that I won’t step into angst territory, so sugar and spice are the perfect barricades, right? RIGHT??

Others in this series: [Arthur] [Isaac]

But I also wanted to write about Theo utterly falling in love with a three-star hondje MC to the hilt. Theo/Pastry Chef, y’all¿? So here ya go, I hope you like it 😗😗😗

And once again Warning: slightly, teeny, tiny, itsy bitsy suggestive theme at the end

A Little Trivia: The Dutch holiday Koningsdag (King’s Day) used to be named Prinsessedag, and later on Koninginnedag. Also, a Mille-Feuille can also be called napoleon (note the lowercase), although I believe it is slightly different.

It was barely one in the afternoon, and Theodorus Van Gogh had a massive and excruciating headache

Why, you ask?

Exhibit A: At stupid o’clock, King had awoken him in a haphazard manner, expressing the necessity to take a walk

Alas, their excursion had been delayed by the inclement weather, thus his furry companion felt inclined to fulfill his wish. On. His. Godforsaken. Carpet.

Exhibit B: With his mood deteriorating, he fortunately found a beguiling, albeit dry-looking, stack of pancakes on his breakfast table, no doubt courtesy of the human butler

Naive to the fact that a certain detective was watching from the shadows and that the pancakes were, in fact, not made by the wonted human butler, he lifted a piece to let it melt on his lips... and they were not good

Instead of a sweet and fluffy crumb doused in a lake of slightly salted syrup, a dam of morbid repellence seemed to explode in his mouth - as if the cakes were made with salt instead of sugar

“ARTHUR!!!”

Exhibit C: On top of all his misfortune, his brother was on his way to Shakespeare, that everlasting creep. This was enough to sour his grimace e’en further

And yet, as weird as his day started, it suddenly became almost suspiciously perfect

After barricading himself for the whole morning, he went to his room to find King snuggly asleep? With his carpet sans the odor? How?

Additionally, he stumbled upon Vince on his merry way to grab a cup of coffee

Ostensively, the storm raging France was too severe for sunflower boi™️ to visit stabbing kink guy™️

“Broer... will you come for a cup of coffee with me?” he legitimately seemed upset, so he swiftly agreed

As they entered the kitchen, a scent that could only be described as ethereal blinded the brothers’ senses, rendering them speechless

It smelt utterly delicious

“Ah! Theo! Vince!”

“Hondje? What are you doing?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, albeit seemingly caught in the act, to see them, like a puppy discovered to have destroyed another pair of shoes

“This was supposed to be a surprise, but I might as well tell you... I’m making you two some tompouces, to celebrate King’s Day.”

“Celebrate what?”

She pushed some flat, rectangular dough pieces into the stove, chortling lightly, “I’m sorry, Sebastian mentioned that it wasn’t always called “King’s Day”. I meant the “Princess’ Day”.”

Vincent nodded assuringly, “I’m certain you mean Prinsessedag. It was quite new during our life... I’ve never heard of a tompouce, however.”

Your eyes promptly lit up, zeal apparent in your lambent orbs, brighter than any paintings he’d ever seen.

“They’re like a napoleon—“

“Napoleon?”

“Not our Napoleon, like a Mille-Feuille. They’re puff pastry filled with this decadent custard and an orange icing on top-“

As you chattered away with his brother, he noticed a bowl by your side with a heavenly scent exuding from it. Stealthily, he coated his fingertip with some of the flaxen substance

AND OH MY GOD

While Sebastian’s dishes tasted flavourous, this was scrumptiously divine

Light, yet rich in flavor, the vanilla aroma fulminated across his tongue, aided by the creamy texture that could melt even under the strongest of resistances, basking his body in a soothing atmosphere—

“So how is my custard, Theo?” you smirked at the stoic Dutchman

“...decent enough.”

Your smirtled aura vanished, replaced by a brooding scowl. He internally snickered, satisfied by your reaction.

“I spent years studying pastry art, only for you to tell me “decent enough“,” your voice contorted, obviously trying to imitate his tone.

And yet, Theo couldn’t help but let surprise fall across his visage. “You’re a pastry chef, knabbletje?”

And thus, you told him (still rather disdainfull) of your years in college. Alongwhile, Vincent excused himself, returning to his drafts. Natheless, his younger brother chose to stay a little while longer, an idea forming in his head.

Dexterously, he dipped his finger into the cool cream once again, complaints already flying from your lips, “Will you stop taking all the— oh!”

But those quickly died again

Because Theo had swiped some onto your neck, brushing away your gossamer strands in process, nibbling in content at your sweet spot. Heat was already starting to core itself, gripping the counter in desperation.

“T-Theo, I still have to finish the tompouces...”

Alas, he disregarded your words completely.

“I believe I’ve found a brilliant way to put this... degree of yours to good use, hondje.”

...Food Play Theo y’all!!!🥵

Whose reaction do y’all want next?

[Arthur] [Isaac]

[script-nef]

Fluff alphabets | Oikawa Tooru

Others: Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima

Category: fluff

Affection: How affectionate is he? How does he show affection?

Oikawa is comparable to an overgrown puppy when it comes to you.

He leaves messages and notes on how much he loves and appreciates you every day. 

He wakes up early every day for his morning run, leaving you to sleep away in the bed. By the time he comes back, you’ve gone off to work.

So before he goes out, he packs a lunch with a little post-it which says things like “I hope everything works out great today” or “Don’t forget I love you!” which brightens up your day.

Baby: Does he want to start a family?

He’d want to wait a bit even if he did. Oikawa is realistic about his work and yours, the amount of time and effort needed to raise a child along with the financial implications. 

He would want to be there for his kids, but is also unwilling to leave his career. So he would try to find a middle ground with you and try to juggle a half-half home and work life because he believes both parents need to share responsibilities equally.

Cuddles: Does he like cuddling? How often does he like hugging?

Every time he sees you, his automatic and reflexive action is a hug. 

You could be covered in mud, wearing a truckload of fragrance (a specific one he doesn’t like), sleeping on the sofa, cooking dinner; his body just moves before he realises it.

It makes him feel safe and loved, even if he’s the one caging you in his arms.

Date: What is a typical date?

Because he’s so popular and everyone can notice him when you guys go out, he prefers indoor dates or isolated camping. Just so that you can be together with no one to bother and ask for autographs. 

Either just doing simple things like finishing puzzles or making new recipes, anything he can do with you is fine. 

During camps, he loves making campfires and roasting marshmallows. You told him about s’mores and now that has become a necessity for him.

 Experience: How much has he dated before? How does that reflect in this one?

He’s gone out with plenty of people before, but only because they were part of his fan group and confessed first. He’s the one who confessed out of the two of you, and he was blushing so much while asking you out.

Still, he picked up a few tricks and experiences to help with his boyfriend skills for you. He never forgets anniversaries, always asks for your opinion first, remains attentive and spends a lot of time with you.

A girl once broke up with him because he was spending too much time with volleyball, but he vows to never let that happen with you.

Fight: Do you fight often with him? How does it usually end?

The problem is that he’s hot-headed sometimes and does not understand the meaning of limits. Arguments happen often but they end relatively well, when you both calm down and talk about your problems.

You both know that fights are necessary to help the relationship grow and understand each other but it doesn’t make it any easier. Feelings get hurt and you spend time apart, but in the end, it gets mended over late-night talks.

Gentle: How does he treat you?

Like you’re the ruler of the world and he’s just a humble servant. He’s literally willing to do anything (except illegal deeds) for you. This boy is whipped.

If you ask for anything, he’ll find a way to get it for you. Unless it takes an exorbitant amount of money. He constantly buys you clothes, cakes, games, everything. 

He makes sure you know you’re loved by him and will take every chance he gets to show it to you. 

Hand: Does he like holding your hand? How often?

Hand-holding is like a greeting for him. Just like with hugs, this boy cannot get enough physical contact when it comes to you. 

His finger laces with yours firmly as if to say “I’m here right now” and he hopes it fills you with assurance and love as it does for him.

Impression: What was your first impression of him?

A popular ikemen with a never-ending smile who gets hit a lot by this other dude.

Oikawa is famous in Seijou and everywhere else, so it wasn’t hard to get an initial impression from all of his fans’ squealing and gushing. Apparently, he’s this perfect prince who’s as pretty as hell and an amazing volleyball player.

His first impression of you was a kind and different seatmate. You had the (mis)fortune of getting placed next to him which garnered a lot of envy from his fans. He liked you since you weren’t squealing and obsessing over him like the others.

Jealousy: Does he get jealous easily? What sets him off?

Gets jealous really easily but tries to play it off. Like “Ah, [Name]-chan, are you confessing your love for other people when your one and only boyfriend is right here? I feel so neglected!” or other whiny comments.

Subtly latches onto you during and after matches, smiling threateningly at the other boys.

“Tooru, knock it off. You have no reason to be jealous. I don’t like them.” 

“I know, but they like you. I can see it in their eyes.” 

“Really? How?” 

“They’re looking at you like I used to when I started falling for you.”

Kiss: Is he good at kissing? When does he kiss you?

Thousands of pecks or light kisses every day and hundreds of deep ones in private. Oikawa kisses you so damn much that it feels like he has a disease which will kill him if he doesn’t kiss you at least once every hour or so.

His favourites are forehead kisses and neck bites. He nibbles on your skin which makes you shriek and hit him repeatedly, but he absolutely loves it.

Love: Who said “I love you” first? And when does he say it?

He said it first while trying to cheer you up. He’s noticed how you were feeling a bit down lately and tentatively asked if anything was wrong.

Then you mumbled about all his fans and if you were enough for him, which just completely shattered his heart. So he rattled off all the things he admired and cherished about you, like how you’re always so dedicated or caring.

He pressed kisses to your hand and whispered “You know I love you, right?” and squeezed you half to death when you said “Me too.”

Memory: What’s his favourite memory with you?

The moment you cried during an argument. This gets a lot of weird looks from people, which once included you, and they ask “Are you, by any chance, a sadist?” or something along those lines. But he isn’t.

Oikawa loves that moment because it proves to him you’re willing to be truthful and vulnerable to him, something he struggled to do in front of you. It showed him you care about this relationship and that you’re invested in it.

There’s plenty of other memories with you he treasures, but this one always warms his heart. (He doesn’t like seeing you cry though.)

Nickname: Does he give you a nickname? Do you have one for him?

He gives you a whole lot of really, really cheesy ones. Like “if you call me this in front of people I know outside, I’ll die from embarrassment” level ones.

Examples include: my everything, cream puff, the radiant sun, sugar bear etc. Overly sweet ones. He likes how you blush and squirm away when he calls you these. 

Everyone looks at him like “what the hell, dude” but he doesn’t give a damn.

Open: How open is he about his feelings?

Oikawa doesn’t hesitate to tell you about his moods and feelings. He once hid them from you, thinking he needs to be stronger than that, but you lectured him for about an hour about it. Now he tells you everything he feels.

Says if he’s sad, lonely, happy, excited, everything. You share all of your feelings with him as well and it makes it feel like you’re closer together now.

PDA: Is he fine with PDA? How far can he go?

He’s casual and comfortable with PDA, but it gets more intense when you’re with his friends. Like the third year gang from Seijou.

He doesn’t really get it either, but seeing you interact with his friends makes a bubble in his chest which feels like it’s going to explode at any moment. He gives you plenty of kisses and hugs, gaining boos from all his friends. He just sticks his tongue out at them, saying “I‘m dating someone and you guys aren’t!”

Quirk: Habits or something he does which is unexpected?

He likes stargazing. It stems from his love/obsession of aliens, which continues to this day, but he realised how expansive and beautiful space is. He becomes quiet every time he gazes up to the night sky, his thoughts just drifting away.

Some of the constellations have fun myths behind them which he enjoys as well. He sometimes recites it for you as a nighttime story, to help you fall asleep.

You bought him a projector once as a present. It now illuminates your bedroom every night.

Relax: What activities do you do with him to relax?

Going to a spa together, getting facials and massages. Oikawa cares a lot about his beauty and the state of his muscles, so a spa is one of his favourite places in the world. 

He would talk to you for the entire massage, saying random and stupid things which makes you laugh and move around a lot. You have to apologise to the masseurs all the time, even though they’ve become used to it.

Support: How supportive is he of your dreams? What do you do for him?

Oikawa constantly reassures and cheers for you as you do for him. He gives you tips and hacks on solving certain problems or brings you your favourite food to bring your mood up.  

He has unwavering faith in your words and pushes you to finish the assignments to the best of your abilities. If you’re getting burnt out, then he just takes you off the laptop and makes you sleep.

For him, he loves seeing your face in the bleachers, calling out and screaming for him. It fills him with extra energy which helps him nail a service ace.

Talk: What does he like talking about?

What it would be like if you stayed with him forever. He loves imagining a future with you, from a year to a decade to the moment he dies. 

“My best traits are my sappiness and my love for you, [Name]-chan!”

He sees older couples doing little activities together and takes photos and sends them to you with “Maybe we can do that!”

Umbrella: What’s his favourite weather/season?

A day with a clear sky, not a single cloud to be seen anywhere. But the sun isn’t too hot either, just the right temperature. The breeze will be light, cooling him down to a perfect temperature.

He’ll lay with you in the back porch, just staring up to the sky in silence. His hand will be linked to yours and eventually fall into an afternoon nap. It’ll be nighttime when he wakes up but you’ll still be sleeping. Then he carries you inside to the bed and starts cooking dinner.

Vaunt: Does he like showing you off?

So much. So, so much. Once Oikawa starts talking about how amazing you are, he’s not going to shut up for another half an hour or so. The record, timed by you, was 47 minutes and 23 seconds. 

The other person will literally start walking away and he won’t notice.

After his long and emotional speech with no audience, his expression will turn into that pea-eyed face (☉_☉) and he’d be like “where’d they go?”

World: Where does he take you for vacation?

A new place for both of you, a country where anything and everything can happen. On the rare occasions he gets a long time off, he makes sure to create new memories for you.

He even bought one of those scratch-off maps to record all the places you visited with him. Most of South America is done and he hopes to finish the U.S. soon.

He loves meeting new people or learning new customs and knows you love them as well. He especially loves how your eyes light up when you see amazing landscapes and beautiful festivals.

X-ray: What happens when you’re injured or sick?

If it’s a simple cold, then he tries to cheer you up by being bright and happy while taking care of you. Feeding you plenty of food and water, bringing you medicine, watching TV shows together, a perfect experience.

If you’re hospitalised, then he’s instantly crushed and cannot function. He spends every single second he can next to your bed and holds your hand, pressing kisses onto it. 

Waterworks starts the moment you wake up and he becomes a leech, pressing himself to your body and refusing to let go.

Yearn: How much does he miss/pine for you when apart?

He texts you every chance he gets, updating you on the most mundane and little things in his life. It’s because he knows you enjoy them, learning about his life away from you and all the new people he met.

He once received a little plushie version of you from his fans, modelled after one of his photos with you on social media, and he sleeps with it every day. Every night before he goes to sleep, he sends you a selfie with something like “:( Nothing beats the original though <3”.

ZZZ: Does he have sleeping habits?He’d want to wait a bit even if he did. 

Covers you with his body regardless of the season and hugs you so tightly against him that it feels like you’re in the grasps of an octopus. It’s great in winter but really annoying in summer, especially if it’s a humid day and you’re both sweating.

Even if you try to push him off, his iron grip on you doesn’t relax and somehow even tightens. After weeks of that, you basically just gave up and invested in better air conditioning.

[softowlhours]

by the lakeside

bokuto koutarou(horror!AU)

it should’ve been the perfect summer getaway. you were both in need of some down time away from your busy careers. but things get a little eerie when there’s a voice in your head that isn’t yours and you find out that you’re not alone in that pristine white house on the hill.

genre: horror, angst, fluff if you squint

tw: descriptions of drowning, asphyxiation, strangulation. suggestive sexual situations.

a/n: i promise i’ll proofread this later and also write an epilogue but until then please enjoy this story it took me way longer than necessary to write. i’ve read it so many times that i don’t find it scary anymore. but i hope you do! :)

word count: 6k

my body feels like an empty shell sometimes, a carcass I am dragging around. when I look into the mirror I don’t recognise myself. i don’t recognise him, either.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

bokuto’s hair gleams silver in the glorious morning light. wind blows through your own strands as you zip past the lush green meadows. you could see the sheep dotted on the grassy planes like puffs of pure white clouds. far away, there stood giant mountains. their high peaks looked like they were breaching the baby blue ceiling of the sky. you only notice your gorgeous surroundings with half a mind, because your eyes keep trailing back to the man besides you. you admire his profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the chiselled cheek bones and jaw line. you zero in on the plush of his lips and it is then that you notice his teasing grin.

‘admiring the view?’ he asks.

‘mhmm. a sight for my sore eyes.’ and he truly is. your gaze drops a little lower. his toned chest peeks from where the buttons of his shirt have come undone. his biceps flex and strain against the fabric as he manoeuvres the steering wheel. he looks like a movie star, straight out of the golden age of film. the red vintage convertible he drives only adds on to your day dream. you can’t help but feel like a heroine starring in your own block buster romance. heat rises to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck at your shameless appraisal. bokuto notices the way lust is barely concealed on your face. he fucking loved the way you looked at him, like he was the guiding star you were always attuned to. the one for whom you’d always search for in an endless night sky.

‘your eyes are sore from staring at your computer screen all day everyday.’ he  ignores your attempts at flirting,  and instead addresses what has been eating away at his mind lately. he’s been worried about you. you often called him out for pushing himself to the point of breaking when it came to volleyball. but, you never noticed how you were inclined to do the same when it came to you own work; buried under papers and ink, day after day as your work ethic kept you confined to your study room. you being a best selling author, him a pro volleyball player; you truly were the power couple worthy of everyone’s envy and admiration, but your lives could get stressful at times.

‘kou, I’m sorry ‘m dragging you away from your routine. the game season starts in two months. you should be hitting some balls right now.’ you withdraw your hand, and he instantly misses your touch. you appear a little crestfallen as you opt to idly fiddle with the lace bordering your sundress.

‘hey,’ his voice is silky, tone slightly chastising. ‘don’t apologise. this was my idea anyways. we need some time away. from everything.’

‘you know that,’ he continues, ‘i’ll never be too busy for you, right? it makes me feel lonely when you just withdraw from me... shut me out.’ his face eyebrows furrow a little. ‘for you I’ll always carve out  time.’

bokuto had a way with words that always left you stupefied. they weren’t embellished and gaudy, like yours. all you ever did was spin fairy tales. Yes they were beautiful, but they were also false. unlike you, he always spoke from his heart, and you wonder if that was why his sentiments without fail reached others.

‘oi- don’t fall asleep.’

‘i’m not sleeping!’ you snap out of your reverie. ‘i’m sorry i… never realised you’d feel that way’ puffing out a sigh, you lean back lazily on the leather seat. ‘i haven’t been feeling much inspiration lately, and when i do write i just hate every word of it.’ 

‘maybe I should retire,’ you muse. ‘never write a word again. let people remember me as the genius author I’m not.’

‘but you are a genius writer!’ bokuto insists. ‘give it a fifty years and they’ll be teaching your work as a part of the curriculum. i’ve never read anything better!’

‘that’s because you rarely read!’

‘i am a picky reader,’ bokuto shrugs, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you haughtily. ‘so congratulations that your writing actually piqued my interest.’

snorting, you pinch his thigh.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

it’s almost evening by the time you drive past a small sleepy town. the few houses have their curtains drawn. there’s a small supermarket and a polyclinic but you notice how the streets are mainly empty, save for a couple of children who play seven tiles on the roadside. fifteen minutes and more grassy meadows and sheep later, you arrive at what looks like the edge of the world. surely you’re being a little dramatic calling it that, but the road winds up the gentle slope of a hill and on top of it sits a pristine white house. bokuto pulls up the car in front of massive wrought iron gates, a chain holds it shut.

‘okay, but when nori said ‘vacation home’, this is not what I had in mind. Is he actually the heir to a conglomerate or something?’ you observe, definitely appalled.

‘uh- knowing his stingy ass, i’m not sure?’ bokuto sounds and looks puzzled as well, so you know he wasn’t expecting it either. he reconfirms the address konoha had messaged him. ‘do we climb the gates? because he never gave me a key or anything. he said the place has a caretaker who’d-’

‘how can I help?’

your heart leaps to your throat, and both you and bokuto snap your heads to your left to look at a man who stands on bokuto’s side of the car. neither of you had seen him approaching and it  was as if he were a magician, materialising out of thin air. old, sinewy and dressed sharply in a suit, he’s hunching to be at your eye levels. upon closer look the fabric of his clothes looked worn out and they fray at the edges. his hair is slicked back and he wears gold rimmed spectacles, its lenses the shape of half moons. his smile is serene, demeanour dignified but there’s shrewdness in his tone.

‘um- hi.’ bokuto greets recovering first. ‘i am konoha’s friend. i assume you’ve been expecting us?’

a beat passes.

‘indeed. allow me to show you around.’

bokuto parks the car under a shed close to the gates and you walk down the stretch of the garden. it is immaculately kept, and roses of all colours bloom neatly in rows. a giant sycamore tree stands close to the house, its branches brushing the roof. when you stand on the porch of the house the gate seems miles away. bokuto wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. he sneaks a soft kiss under your left ear as the caretaker opens up the door for you.

the inside of the house is splendidly furnished and it leaves you awestruck. simple but gorgeous, a modern castle of sorts. a cream colored leather sofa sits in the centre of the living room, the rug in front of it is white and fluffy. There is a box television- the kinds popular decades ago, and you wonder if it actually works or if it’s just for show. the chandelier above is a million crystals and an open kitchen makes up the far end of the living room. a stair case winds its way up. but, what truly catches your eye are the massive french doors which open up to the stretch of a green lawn. calling it a backyard would be a bit inadequate; for the trimmed grass meets the surface of a great lake, its water like molten lava reflecting the evening sky. you can see the outline of ducks waddling away, probably on their way home. the lake stretches out for almost a mile and after that you see nothing but the thicket of the woods. it is almost the end of july, so while the days are warm, the temperatures tend to dip quite a bit at night. you shiver a little and snuggle closer into bokuto’s side. the caretaker, in his monotonous voice,  explains to you how your room shall be upstairs,  the one to the right. there were four other rooms which were mostly empty and locked for the sake of easy maintenance. you tune him out when he moves on to the instructions regarding the heating and locking systems.

you’re entranced by the house, and standing there in its magnanimity you feel like you’ve been drawn into a picture book. you can imagine breakfasts every morning on the front porch. afternoons spent lolling on the grass besides the lake. you would keep a vase filled with freshly cut roses from the garden, in the centre of the kitchen table. spend the nights sitting in front of the fire place when winter laid its thick blanket of white snow outside. your high flying careers felt like a distant dream. your laptop back home could collect all the dust it wanted to. you could just stay here forever wrapped up in each others arms.

i’m lonely. i hate how you’re always away from home because of volleyball.

bokuto notices your distant look , the slightest way your lips are set in a grimace. it tugs on his heartstrings. makes it difficult for him to breathe.

bringing his mouth close to your ear, he whispers your name bringing you out of your head. you blink, biting back the ugly realisation that had just intruded your brain. you had never felt that way before, you had forced yourself not to. it was long ago when you had decided that you’d never make him choose between you and volleyball. or maybe that loneliness was something you’d always felt. but because you were afraid of it; you had hidden it under your skin, in between your bones.

if i could, i’d steal you away and keep you all to myself. in a cage just for me and you.

too afraid that he’ll somehow read your mind, you step away from him, disoriented by the venomous voice of your subconscious as you look around for the old man.

‘he left while you were zoning out, princess. said he’s going home.’ he pulls your back against his chest, long fingers begin snaking up a well known trail up your thighs. your cute little sundress does little to stop him. ‘he’ll be back by noon tomorrow, to tend to the garden and all that.’ bokuto speaks in between the kisses he’s placing along the side of your neck. ‘apparently, he lives in that town we drove by earlier.’

‘mhmm.’

‘want to live in a house like this someday.’ he asks you, his voice hushed.  you rest your head back on his chest, as love and lust pools in your stomach and clouds your thoughts.

i’m scared someday you’ll leave me behind.

“me. you. maybe a dog. maybe… children?” he continues and your eyes widen at that.

‘you want all that?’

‘with you? yes I want everything. i’ll take everything that you can give me.’

liar.

you turn around and pull bokuto into a heated kiss. his chapped lips meld into yours and your teeth clack a little from the suddenness of your movement. by now it is completely dark outside and the living room is dimly lit by a lamp. bokuto seems unaware, too lost in you to be notice space and time. but, a weird sensation surrounds you. you feel the whisper of a cool breeze, a murmur disturbing the stillness of the house. with one hand, bokuto cups your behind. the fingers of his other rake through your hair. it’s a buzz now, like a thousand bees hovering over your heads. you feel dazed, you’re needy, you’re confused.

there’s someone else here. the two of you are not alone.

‘ow,’ you yelp in pain.

bokuto jumps away from you, but his hands are badly tangled in your hair.

‘I told you to tie your hair in the car!’ he is laughing. ‘it’s a nest in here!’

the buzzing dies down. the silence that follows is deafening. you wonder if you’re delusional with the lack of sleep.

as bokuto carefully weaves his fingers out he places a chaste kiss on the little crease in between your eyebrows. he finds you so cute, it physically hurts him.  

‘don’t worry, babygirl,’ his voice drops a few octaves. ‘windswept looks sexy on you.’

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

later that night as you are lie under the drapes and canopies, you notice how the bedroom is much like the rest of the house- fit for royalty. bokuto snores softly, but you lie awake with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is a mind-numbing rhythm. a thin sheet of sweat covers your bodies and you try to ignore the wetness in between your legs. you should probably change the sheets as well, but your body refuses to move and you don’t know where to find any new ones. sleep evades you so you let Bokuto’s question roll around in your mind. a forever with him. of course you would say yes. there was nothing more that you wanted than that. but the dread from earlier which you had managed to keep at bay with lust, slowly begins to resettle in the pit of your stomach.

he promises you an eternity now, but he’ll leave you behind soon.

you somehow clamber out of bed, making sure not to awaken bokuto. picking up his shirt from where it lies on floor, you put it on. the bedroom has identical doors from the living room, made of glass, and they open onto a small balcony. you draw open the lacey curtains and step out into the chilly night air. the sight that awaits you makes you gasp.  a fine mist rolls over the water, but the lake itself is still.  its surface is like taut cellophane. beyond the lake where the woods begin, it is pitch black darkness and you cannot tell where the woods meet the moonless sky. it’s a new moon night, but where you expect to see the stars is an empty hollowness. its eerily silent. too silent. no insects trill. no wind blows. you stare intently into the water for so long that you swear you see something lurking just underneath its surface.  the mist that hovers slowly inches towards the house, coiling like endless bony fingers.

that pool of velvety darkness, i wonder what it’d feel like against my skin.

come to me then. feel it for yourself. your voice, no, her voice purrs.

you whirl around to see bokuto. he’s standing a feet away from you, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

‘whoah! easy,’ bokuto exclaims, surprised by your jumpiness. no way it had been him who had spoken moments ago. ‘what are you doing outside?’ he asks. ‘i nearly got a heart attack when I saw someone standing out here.’ 

you look back towards the lake, and you’re utterly confused. the mist seems to have instantly vanished. you can even hear the water now, softly undulating. it appears akin to a creased sheet of silk.

had you been hallucinating? dreaming with your eyes open?

you fight down the growing panic and instead walk over to him, squishing his cheeks. you softly kiss his pout. ‘aww. baby’s scared?’ you coo.

he grumbles something about you catching a cold but tugs you inside and you decide to let it all go. you’re tired and tomorrow will be a new day.

had you turned around, you’d notice how the stars were glittering like cold hard gems in the night sky.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you were pleasantly lazing about in the sun. the lake was a glittering blue and the woods looked benign during the day. they weren’t as dense as they appeared to be in the absence of light. from where you lay, the house looks like an entity of its own. imposing and regal. bokuto is dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants as he plays around witha volleyball, tossing and spiking it all by his lonely self. you didn’t remember seeing him pack a volleyball, but then again somehow he always seemed to miraculously have a one at his disposal. today,  he hasn’t gelled his hair up in its usual style, so it flops onto his  forehead in a way you wished he’d leave it more often.

‘y/n! nice receive!’ he hollers at you.

he spikes the ball aiming straight for your stomach and you somehow manage to block his assault. thank god he hadn’t used a quarter of the strength he usually puts into his spikes.

your strong and annoying man.

‘you trying to murder me or what?’

he pulls you up to your feet. ‘i’ll be teaching you how to spike, drama queen. it’s insane how you’ve been with me for all these years and haven’t learnt a thing or two about volleyball. people would die for a one on one training session with me.’ he brags as he fetches the ball from where it had rolled off to.

you try to copy his motions, but what he can effortlessly pull off is an impossible feat for you. you send the ball upwards and jump as you try to match your timing to spike it. but before you can hit the ball it lands on your head.

bokuto is losing his shit, doubling over with laughter. and you try to look angry but end up giggling with him.

‘i give up!’ you complain. plus my boobs jiggle since i’m not wearing a sports bra,’ 

‘babe, thats kinda the point!’ he beams.

a perfect spike lands on his face.

‘owww, that’s foul play, y/n! ’ he yells. rubbing his nose, he walks over to you.

‘you should be punished!’ he scolds you, but places a kiss on your temple. his hands wander downwards to unzip your dress. he lets it fall to the ground. you know where this is headed. you think he’s going to kiss you so you close your eyes and lean towards him but before you can react, he’s bending down and suddenly you’re being lifted. he has you over his shoulders and your peals of laughter warm his heart. he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.

bokuto marches straight into the lake and dumps you in. the water is cool and refreshing, just as you had imagined it. it’s shallow enough so you’re chest deep in the water when your feet are planted at the bottom. his body glistens with dampness, hair a floppy wet mess. he was so beautiful, that even though it was irrational you felt a little bit shy. you’re splashing each other with water, the atmosphere’s light and bubbly with amusement. bokuto tries to catch you but you slip out of his reach. he is being his loud and  dramatic self as he falls face down into the water, complaining as he comes up with his eyes screwed shut. 

‘i swear i’d rather be blinded by your beauty than this water.’

you shake you head, feigning disdain and then you’re swimming away from him, towards the safety of the house. it must almost be noon, and you vaguely remember its time for the care taker to come around. you did not want to be seen in your wet underwear. bokuto calls out to you, apologising. there is water in your ears, it laps all around you as you swim. it dulls all sound and every other sense until the only thing you hear is your thumping heart. when you come up for air, you can see the blue sky, when your face is in the water you can see the stones and pebbles littering the bottom.

but, when you come up for air again, the sky is overcast. laden with dense gray clouds.

the water runs icy, lead flows through your veins. your body is sinking like a ship. it feels like you’re trying to move through viscous jelly. when you try to pull up for air you cannot break through, the surface traps you like its the cellophane you remember seeing the night before. a tight grip on your waist, abruptly pulls you under. your flailing hands try to grasp at nothing in particular. you wonder if its bokuto just messing around, but you know it isn’t. you don’t feel his presence anywhere. your fingers suddenly entangle into something. your eyes burn when you try to open them and look. jet black strands of hair, a bone white face, a mouth that is open like a gaping wound. you scream and nothing but gurgles and air bubbles escape you. you try to pull back but your hands are stuck in the weedlike hair. Funny you think of the evening before, when bokuto’s fingers had entangled in your messy hair the same way.

‘kou…koutaro!’ you try calling for him. you hear your disembodied voice, feel the water flood your mouth, your nose. but you feel all alone with that woman straight out of nightmares. fear has you in its grip, your minds a mush.

you hate him so damn much. you hate him, you hate him, you HATE him.  a voice repeats the same words in your head. you wonder if it sounds like your own or someone else’s. you cannot tell the two apart.

you feel a hand wrap around your arm, its large and warm and it feels like home. as it drags you out of the water the ashen face seems to quiver and distort. her eyes flicker open. they roll in their sockets but when they fixate on you, you see eyes just like your own. but they are transparent like marbles; burning with betrayal and accusation.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you wake up with a start to screams piercing the air. they are shrill and blood curdling. your hands are on your ears as you try to block out the sound but it only gets louder. it takes you a moment to realise that the screaming had been you. bokuto holds you in his arms, you can feel him shaking underneath your palms that grapple at his back.

he’s crying.

no! why is your bokuto crying? you pull away a little just enough to look at him, but the way his features are twisted in melancholy punctures a hole through your heart.

‘y/n, babe… babe,’ his lips quiver stealing away speech but he forces himself to speak. ‘ i looked everywhere in the water but I couldn’t find you. you were swimming and then you just stopped. i thought you were fooling around but you were down there for too long. so i come over but... I couldn’t see you anywhere at first. i panicked! holy shit... i was panicking.’ he shifts away from you, an arms length away. leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. ‘You weren’t even struggling, just stopped moving. Do you remember what happened?’ bokuto drags a hand down his face. he’s visibly distressed.

‘i don’t know what happened,’ you croack. ‘it felt like I was stuck. my feet wouldn’t come lose. as if someone was there with me in the water, holding me down…’ a sob escapes you.

bokuto pales a little at your description. but there had been no one but the two of you in the water. hell he hadn’t even seen any fishes.

he had pulled you under in the first place hadn’t he. there’s no one here but the two of you.

you remember not being alone in the water. you remember the heaviness. but nothing else.

bokuto opens his mouth to say something, but you cannot concentrate. the urge is too strong. before you can think, before you can answer. you are bending over and puking your guts out.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you spend the rest of the day, clinging to bokuto. and he doesn’t mind. he seems to be craving that constant feeling of your skin on his. something to remind him that you were okay, that you were here now. he makes his way around the kitchen with you stuck to him like a little koala.

“sit down on that chair just for a minute, y/n. i can’t find the plates!” he tries to loosen your chokehold on him but you only tighten it and bokuto booms out a laugh.

‘i swear you’re lucky you’re cute.”  

‘just consider this weight training.’

bokuto had put together a light meal. you reckoned you’d be unable to stomach anything too heavy.

‘we were supposed to be having fun. i feel like i’ve ruined everything.’ you mumble gloomily. you’re sitting on the chairs you pulled up around the kitchen island. a make shift dining table.

‘it’s okay. its enough to just be together.’

‘oh no been away from you for a five whole minutes.’ your expression is of mock worry as you rush over onto his lap. you immediately bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent calms you down. he chuckles at your antics.

‘do you think we can just go home?’ you ask apprehensively, still feeling bad about having spoilt your perfect little getaway.  ‘i don’t feel like staying here anymore.’

‘sure, baby girl .’ bokuto replies in a heartbeat, and you wonder if he feels the same unease in remaining here any longer.

‘we can leave tomorrow morning.’ he suggests. ‘it might be a bit too late to leave now. plus, caretaker-san didn’t even show up today.’

‘is it okay to just leave?,’ you ask.

from where bokuto sits on the dining table in the kitchen, he can see the doors in the living room that open up to the porch. it’s around three in the afternoon. the weather was beginning to turn awfully gloomy.

clouds slowly fill the sky eclisping the sun that had shined all day. it leaves everything in shades of gray.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you wake up alone in bed. the remnants of an eerie dream still lingers in your mind. you had been combing your hair, which was unusually thick, dark and long. you kept brushing the silky smooth strands, on and on and on, until they started coming loose in your hands. shuddering as you recall it, you turn around to see the wall clock read nine p.m. where was kou? at some point you had fallen asleep although you did not remember coming upstairs to the bedroom. he must’ve carried you from where you and him had been lying on the sofa downstairs, idly chatting.

your body is still heavy with exhaustion but you force yourself to sit up. hearing the water running in the bathroom, you call out to bokuto. ‘kou?’  you pad your way over to the bathroom. when you open the door there is no one inside. water drips from from a leaky tap into an empty bath tub. strange. where had the sound been coming from then?

you find yourself mesmerised by your reflection in the mirror right across from you. when you step inside the bathroom, the tiles are dry and frigid underneath your feet. the lights are off, however, the bathroom is faintly lit up by the light filtering in from the frosted windows. the bags under your eyes are dark and puffy, your lips look ashen. you look like you had lost a tonne of weight over the span of the past few hours. tracing a finger along the outline of your reflection, you notice how your eyes were a forlorn abyss. hollow like the dead.

mine. stay with me. don’t leave me alone. a voice whispers to you and you listen, enchanted.

you see the corners of your lips quirk up in your reflection. your expression twists into that of deranged happiness.

so, you’ll stay?

you don’t feel the smile on your face.

you’re backing away slowly. a scream dies in your throat.

that isn’t you. it’s her.

you’re running full speed out of the bathroom and you make it just in time as the door slams shuts behind you. the edge of your thin white slip gets caught in between but you yank it loose with enough force. bursting out of the room like a bat out of hell you’re hurtling downstairs. you have to look for bokuto. you must leave. now!

you’re me, i am you. he doesn’t love you, so just stay with me. I’m lonely.

you try to call out to bokuto but you cannot find your voice.

and then you see him. sitting on the sofa. the relief you feel is momentary. the old television is on, and the screen is grainy with static but bokuto’s eyes are intent on it. he’s still as if he were carved out of stone. he doesn’t acknowledge your presence just keeps staring ahead with an owlish gaze. you place a shaky hand on his shoulder and he finally turns to look at you.

his eyes that usually are like pools of golden honey are dark and murky like cheap kerosene. his features are sharper, more cunning. a devil in your lover’s skin. the mist outside thickens, appearing as if they were pale white walls surrounding the house.

i told you to just stay with me. you should’ve stayed with me in that cool dark water.

he doesn’t love you, i do.

suddenly bokuto is stalking towards you, his movements hypnotic like that of a panther, sinuously fluid, predatory. a feral look glints in those foreign eyes. he slams you against the nearest wall, his hands tightening over your neck. your head meets the hard surface with a thud. those large arms that have always felt like home suddenly feel empty and cold like a prison cell.

you’re just a prisoner in his cage. he doesn’t love you like I will.

black spots fill your vision, as your air supply is slowly being cut off. ‘kou- please don’t.’ you whimper. a flicker of recognition flashes through those eyes, but the grip around your neck only tightens. ‘kou-’ you call again softly. tears fall freely down your face. your hands go limp by your sides and in the process you knock over a vase that had been on table besides you. it falls to the marble floor with an obnoxious crash. the ceramic splinters into a hundred pieces. bokuto’s eyes widen and the darkness from his face lifts. it is as if a thick patch of clouds obscuring the moon had drifted past, letting its pure light fall to the earth once again. he’s your bokuto once again.

horror struck he lets go of your neck and catches a glimpse of the angry red fingerprints left behind like a morbid necklace. you collapse to the ground.

a door bangs shut somewhere in the house, startling you both. bokuto is about to crouch down next to you when suddenly the volume of the television is cranked up. the harsh static sound grates your ears, like a drawn out growl. there’s thumping coming from behind every surface of the house- the walls, the floors, the ceilings. every door, every window  swings open only to shut back with a bang, over and over until shards of broken glass lie like a carpet all over the floor. the house is alive with the breath of countless souls that live in its every crack and crevice. you both look on with horror as heavy mist begins to pour into the house. bokuto’s teeth chatter with fear, and he tries to get you to stand. he follows your gaze which is fixed to where your bedroom had been. and he sees it then. on the door which opens into the room, there’s a shadow of a woman. he can discern the long straight hair which she combs on and on and on.

‘f-fuck!’ he spits.

he harshly pulls you over his shoulders but transfixed you crane up your neck to continue looking at the shadow. hastily he manages to grab the keys which he had hung on a hook by the main door.  the shadow grows darker, more defined as if  whoever it belonged to was coming closer. he feels you struggling and you scream to be let down.the main door to the house is already open so with one last glance at the chaos behind, you are both bolting out of the house.

‘y/n, run! to the car. hurry, hurry, hurry!’ he shuts the door, hoping it would buy you some time. he’s not really sure what he’d just seen or what any of it meant. but thinking would come later. he grabs your hand as you start the mad dash across the front garden. you notice despite your compromised vision due to the mist, how the roses look wilted. the grounds gooey and wet underneath, and your feet sink into the soft mud making movement sluggish. but you don’t stop. moments later, the door behind you flings open with enough force that it comes loose from its hinges. the whole house seems to be angry.

come back here.

don’t leave me alone.

an overgrown root coils around your calf and yanks you back. your hand slips out of bokuto’s and he turns around, horrified, to see you being dragged into the ground. like you were falling into quicksand.

‘hold on to my arm,’ bokuto bellows, ‘and just don’t. let. go!’

the circulation in your leg is being cut off and you cry in pain. you can feel the disgusting way the soft earth keeps parting further to let you in. you want to let go, give in to the struggle. maybe it’d be better to just lie buried here, decomposing till you forget whats fear, whats pain.

your name is rolling off bokuto’s tongue like a chant. his muscles burn with strain. the sweat and slick makes his grip on you weak and he notices how you’re  letting go. he reads the resignations on your face. but why are you letting go? why are you trying to leaving him alone?

bokuto loses his footing and falls backwards and almost loses you, but he manages to interlock your fingers. he’s grunting with effort, and roars with frustration when it doesn’t seem to be working. it is then when you see the blood covering his feet, the glass splinters buried deep into his soles. in your haste to get away you never noticed how he had walked all over the shards with you over his shoulder. the ache in your heart swells. you know he’d never leave you behind. it was the two of you, or none of you who’d make it alive out of here.

the thought of bokuto buried deep into the ground, lips blue and crusted with mud gives you a renewed conviction. with the last spurts of energy you hold tight onto bokuto’s arm with one hand. the other digs into where you find soft but solid ground. you attempt to claw your way out and fight the drag of the noose around you ankle that tries to pull you in the opposite direction. away from bokuto. bokuto is inching backwards, his voice hoarse with all that screaming as he does his utmost to haul you out. 

rain begins to pour in heavy cascades even though there hadn’t been a single cloud in the obsidian sky. and suddenly you feel earth’s hold on you go slack. bokuto and your efforts come to fruition as your foot comes loose and you tumble straight on top of bokuto’s body. but its too early to celebrate. a loud thunderclap spurs you both into action and you run and run, fighting the burn in your lungs until you reach the car. bokuto, is grateful, infinitely grateful that the keys had remained in his pockets during that struggle. he hands you the keys and with no time to waste you’re  running to the car, afraid that something inauspicious might happen again if you didn’t hurry. bokuto notices with relief that the iron gates are not chained shut like they had been upon your arrival, and with some effort he swings them open.  bokuto clambers into the passenger seat and you floor the gas as you drive straight out of the gates, into a calm quiet night. 

it takes you a moment to notice that the rain had stopped. 

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

the two of you are covered in dirt, in blood. absolutely shattered with exhaustion. bokuto finally feels the pain that had been dampened by adreneline. it now ignites like an inferno. he almost tears his lip trying to bite back a whimper. in the rear view mirror, you catch a glimpse of the house. it looks regal and imposing, as it had when you’d first arrived. you can see the dimly lit bedroom, the curtains billowing gently in a slight breeze. the glass on the doors is intact. the garden is immaculate once again and you can see patches of soft grass spread out where the mud had almost eaten you up alive just a few moments ago. a shaky laugh escapes Bokuto, and before you know it, feeling delirious, you’re laughing with him. 

bokuto’s phone rings and the sound cuts short your hysteria. with some effort he retrieves it from the dashboard where he’d left it two days ago. he had planned on not letting anything distract him from you on this short getaway. he puts it on loudspeaker.

‘they picked up!’ you hear Konoha say to someone and the collective sighs of relief are audible.

‘dude, where have you both been? we’ve been calling you all day. ms. nakamura told me that you never made it to my vacation home?’

‘ms. nakamura?’ bokuto rasps.

‘yeah, the caretaker I told you about?’

‘the caretaker was a man!’ you snatch the phone with from bokuto with one hand while other remains on the steering wheel. you’re yelling at the receiver like a mad woman. ‘we came to your villa, but that man opened the gates. listen, there’s something wrong with the house and lake behind it is-’

‘what lake? there are only corn fields behind my house. which is, by the way, a traditional japanese one. where the fuck have you both been?!’

you and bokuto look at each other in confusion, and you hit the brakes. you glance back at the house which is now far, far away. if you squint your eyes you can see the outline of a man at the gates. the lamp in his hand glows golden like a distant star.

a woman’s shadow is dark and lonely against the delicate lace of the bedroom’s curtains.

[nalgenewhore]

Slipping Through My Fingers - Two

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

warnings: none

an: this chapter’s a lil shorter than usual 

Elide woke up alone, sprawled across her bed.

Groaning softly into the skin of her upper arm, she stretched and rolled over, blinking her eyes at sunny skies behind her side-by-side windows, sixth paned with rounded tops. Her gaze travelled to the canopy-esque set up she had above her bed, a simple wooden-pole square that she hung a multitude of plants from. 

Lorcan was gone, and she was grateful for that. It was always awkward, waiting around for a hook-up to leave so she could get on with her day. 

But Lorcan was… great. Really, he was. The sex had been amazing and he was gorgeous, truly beautiful, but it wasn’t just that. They got along well, when they were just lying in her bed, when she was sitting on her kitchen table and they were eating cereal. It was easy to laugh with him, to talk and banter with him. Elide groaned again and rolled over onto her stomach. You do not have the time for this, she reminded herself. 

She huffed and got out of bed, feeling that old familiar ache between her legs and on the bruises sucked onto her skin as she shuffled into the bathroom and turned on her shower. 

As the water warmed up, Elide shrugged on her fluffy bathrobe and went out to check her phone, opening the message from Nehemia, one of her new teacher colleagues. After Elide had moved from Perranth to Orynth, her sister Aelin had introduced her to her closest friends. They had all hit it off almost instantaneously and it was like they’d known each other all their lives. 

She was a little less freaked out by her new job now that she knew she’d have at least one friend there. 

NY: still down for brunch with the girlies?

EL: you know it 

EL: 11?

NY: see you then! i’m going shopping for classroom stuff later, wanna join?

EL: gods yes - completely forgot about that whoops

Plans for the day made, Elide turned on her music and hopped in the shower, the warm stream washing away the last night and the feeling of disappointment that she couldn’t quite place. 

After her shower, Elide dried and curled her hair, throwing on the red wrap dress that Aelin had made for her - it was from her newest collection and all of her friends often got the throwaways, not that there was ever anything wrong with them. Elide paired it with simple white sneakers and dropped her wallet, phone, keys, and a reusable bag into a white cross-body purse before she left her apartment complex. 

It was beautiful outside, a perfect late-August day so she decided to walk the short-ish distance to the Faliq family bakery, where Nesryn worked as a pastry chef alongside her father. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide walked into the air conditioned bakery to find Nesryn precariously balancing trays of mouth-watering, decadent pastries. She quickly moved, saving a plate of mille feuilles with pastry cream and strawberries from crashing to the floor. “Hey, Nes.” 

Nesryn grinned, “El, thank the gods.” She blew a flyaway strand of hair that had escaped her half-up, half-down bun do. “Cute dress.” She herself was wearing a pair of flour covered overalls and a black crop top, a pair of slip-on sneakers on her feet. They walked out to the patio to their normal table, where their friends were already sitting. 

“Thanks, Ae gave it to me. I’m liking the overalls look,” Elide said, setting down the tray and taking her seat beside her sister. “Gods, these look fucking amazing, Nes.” Lysandra passed her a glass filled with ice coffee as Nesryn sat down next to her fiancée and blushed under the praise. 

They dug in, catching up on each other’s lives. Nesryn and Lysandra had just returned from a vacation in Eyllwe and Nehemia lamented about missing home, but Elide knew she would never actually go through with forgetting everything and moving back. The wedding band on her finger and the matching one on Fenrys’ told a different tale. Their eloping was the best decision either of them had ever made. 

Elide commented on how happy Aelin looked, despite being awake and coherent before noon and her sister shyly shared she’d been seeing someone, a man named Rowan. Nehemia smiled, it seemed as though Rowan was a good friend of Fenrys’ and Fenrys had actually introduced the two of them. Aelin looked absolutely smitten and they were all so happy for her. She deserved a happy love, after her parents, after Sam… 

When Elide reached for the jam, her wrap top shifted and exposed one of the dark marks on the curve of her breast. Aelin squawked and Elide flushed, sitting back down, a hand over her chest as she watched her sister splutter. “Yes, Aelin?” 

“Wha- what- what is that?” The blonde reached over and used the tip of her index finger to pull back the neckline of Elide’s dress, baring the mark and the countless others on her pale skin. Elide slapped her sister’s hand away, preferring that she didn’t expose her in public. “Elide!” 

Everyone else gasped, intrigued as Elide relented. “Fine! I may have met a man at Emrys’ and hooked up with him… in the alley.” 

Her friends’ eyes widened as Aelin’s jaw dropped and soon enough they were congratulating her, pestering her for extremely intimate details she refused to give until they finally dropped the subject and went back to eating. 

“But was he any damn good?”

Elide hummed and sipped from her cold drink, “He was pretty any damn good.”

An hour later, they helped Nesryn clear the table and carried everything into the kitchen, saying hello to her father and mother. Sayed, her father, refused to let them leave without bags or boxes, depending on the choice, of their personal favourites. He claimed they were just laying around and they played along, but they knew better. 

Elide climbed into Nehemia’s car and they were off to the nearest craft and office supplies store. There was a sale and they thanked the gods. The school paid for… not enough and if they wanted their classes to be adequately decorated, they would have to pay out of pocket for a lot of it. 

Nehemia taught seventh grade at their school, while Elide taught kindergarten, so her class was much more brightly coloured. 

Currently, she was comparing a pack of Mr. Sketch Markers and regular old Crayolas. Nehemia glanced over at the packs, “Mr. Sketch are way better. I swear, they’ve never bled and they smell good.” 

She laughed and dropped the Mr. Sketch into her cart, checking off markers on her list. “Alright… I just need some… sticker paper for desk labels.” 

Nehemia nodded, “Sounds good. I really hope my stuff is hip enough.” Elide laughed again and she insisted, “Do you know how scary seventh grade girls are? I can’t have them dissing my class!” 

“I think you’ll be fine, Mi,” she said dryly, shaking her head a bit. “If I had you as my seventh grade teacher, I would’ve been in love with you, 100%.” 

“Aw, really?” 

“Totally!” 

“That’s so sweet!” Nehemia dropped a packet of thumbtacks into her basket and sighed, “Alright, I think I’m done for now. What about you?” 

“Just the sticker paper and then I’ll be good to go.” 

They quickly located the paper and Elide got a few packs before they made their way to the registry. She looked up as she was bagging her things in the cotton bag she’d brought, eyes landing on a tall man with dark hair thrown up in a messy bun. 

She almost called out ‘Lorcan’, but he turned and she didn’t recognize him. A weird feeling sunk into the pit of her stomach. Maybe she did regret only knowing him for one night, but it’s not like she could do anything about it. 

Slightly deflated, she remained mostly silent as Nehemia dropped her off. “El, are you alright? You seem a little bit…” 

Elide waved her off, “No, yeah, ‘m fine. I think I’m just tired. Hot today.” 

Nehemia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the subject as Elide kissed her cheek and hopped out, waving when she unlocked the door of her building and slipped inside. 

Sleeping with Lorcan wasn’t a mistake, she didn’t regret that, but now that she thought about it… she would’ve liked to have seen him sleeping beside her in the morning. Would’ve liked to know how he took his coffee and how he kissed her good-bye.  

Making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, Elide unlocked the door to her studio apartment and leaned back against the door in the dark, just staring at the empty space. 

There was something rumpled on the floor and she dropped her bags, walking towards it. It was her dress, somehow not ripped even though they hadn’t exactly been patient when they got to her apartment. 

With another groan, Elide changed aggressively in an old hoodie and sweats, ruining her curls by throwing her hair into a sloppy bun and plopped down on her bed, using the remote to turn on the TV mounted on the opposite wall. 

Feeling peckish, Elide stood up from bed and walked over to the kitchen. She grabbed the box of pastries Sayed had given her, opening it up to find an Earl Grey and honey-flavoured St. Honoré, which was a layer of puff pastry that served as a base for the large cream puffs dipped in caramel, filled with Earl Grey and honey infused pastry cream, and topped with whipped cream. 

Her mood lifted slightly as she cut herself a slice and read the note that Nesryn had left, letting her know that she’d been tweaking with the recipe and asking Elide to let her know what she thought. 

Elide took herself and her pasty back to bed after turning on her kettle and putting a scoop of loose tea into her diffuser-ball and dropping it in a mug. 

She sighed as she navigated to Netflix and clicked on a movie, already calling Aelin. Aelin didn’t get a word in before Elide was saying: “Clueless?” 

Her sister agreed immediately, “Clueless.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt​​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @cursebreaker29​​ @superspiritfestival​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @queen-of-glass​ @sleeping-and-books​ @beccasophia95​ @exersize-me-i-dare-u​ @thewayshedreamed​ @hizqueen4life​

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Contentment

So here’s a thought that became a Lin Beifong one-shot. If someone’s reading this... let me know what you think 🤷‍

---

Ever since she made it to Chief of Police, she found that she was able to take more control of her schedule. Nonetheless, quiet Friday nights at home like these were rare.

Using metalbending, Lin Beifong peeled her armor off and placed it in the cabinet beside the shoe rack, a reminder that she will get to its maintenance before going to work on Monday. She wiggled her toes and continued into the house barefoot, enjoying the feel of the cold marble floor against her skin. She headed towards the kitchen, tossing her work bag into the study along the way.

The paper bag of take-out food was plonked on the dining table and an old battered kettle with water was soon on the stove. She stretched her arms languidly then reached to turn on the radio, if only to fill the silence with white noise.

Plucking out some spice canisters from the shelves and taking out the vegetables she sliced earlier, Lin set about to prepare dinner. Humming softly with the radio tunes, she cleared a portion of the table and opened the containers of sliced vegetables. She sat down and unrolled a piece of cloth, intent on assembling a couple of vegetable wraps on the mat.

After decades of preparing vegetarian meals, Lin had learned to appreciate the cuisine and tweak it to her taste. She added spicy pickled kelp and sprinkled chili on some of the wraps. She made a mental note to ask her sister to bring more kelp on her next visit. (The older Beifong would never admit it but she dearly valued exchanging recipes with Suyin’s ex-pirate chef.)

The kettle let out a high-pitch whistle (which her husband hated and had thus more than once offered to buy a replacement kettle; which she adamantly refused to do so since her mom made it for their housewarming party years ago) and she took it off the stove, placing a steaming pot in its place. The earthbender tore open her take-out paper bag and dropped the store-bought dumplings into the pot.

She then arranged the vegetable wraps on the serving plate alongside the fried puffs she purchased from the vendor beside headquarters (“Assorted crab and tofu puffs, please”).  With not enough time to make dessert, she figured her husband would have to settle for some chilled moon peaches from the icebox.

As she waited for the dumplings to reheat, she decided to make herself a cup of coffee before dumping some tea leaves to steep in the kettle.

-----

It was a quaint and cozy scene that greeted the last airbender when he got home. A scene that still brought a lightness in his heart even after being married for fifteen odd years.

Leaning against the kitchen counter was his wife, apparently fresh from the shower as evidenced by the dampness of her short grey hair. Tenzin continued to observe her quietly as she absentmindedly continued to stir something in a saucepan while reading a book propped at the side, page held in place by an empty coffee cup. Barefoot and clad in a plain tank top and shorts, the stern protector of Republic City was barely recognizable in the casual setting. He smiled as Lin made a face, probably scoffing at the plot of her novel.

He made his way towards her, landing a kiss on her exposed shoulder from behind, effectively startling her.

“Spirits, Tenzin!” Lin raised the spatula in shock, landing whipped cream on her face and on his robes.

Tenzin grinned. He loved that he was the only person in the world who could surprise the otherwise vigilant metalbending chief of police. It was a testament on how comfortable she was with him that she never felt the need to be on her guard.

“Hello, dear.” He kissed off the cream from her cheek and was rewarded with a slap on the arm. “You seemed engrossed there, good book?” 

“Oh Agni, no.” His wife snorted as she marked her page in the book. “It’s just one of those trashy books that Su sent me, in the hopes that I get in touch with my inner dancer or something.” She placed the saucepan beside the peaches on the dining table.

The airbender accepted the napkin given by Lin to clean up his robes. “Still trying to convince you to join her dance group?” He turned to the counter, opening his paper bag of food.

“Yes, claims it would make me more flexible and limber - as if I don’t have enough training at headquarters.” (”Or in bed,” Tenzin muttered, getting swatted on the arm for his contribution). She offered her husband assistance as he poured the soup he brought home into a serving pot. “I have to constantly remind those children running the precincts that I am not old.” Her hand flicked in irritation. “And apparently, the only way I could assert that is by beating them down. While hanging on the ceiling. With my metal cables.” Little tremors were felt on the floor as she punctuated her statements with barely perceptible stomps of her foot.

Tenzin chuckled, guiding his wife into her seat in the dining room as she scowled. “I’m sure you enjoyed putting them in their place,” He added the pot of soup on the table. “Come now, I wouldn’t have thought a bunch of new officers would get you down. It’s the weekend!” He sat down, pouring tea for the two of them.

Lin shrugged and proceeded to pile Tenzin’s plate with two (bland) kale wraps and a few dumplings.

“This one’s new,” He lightly touched an angry red cut on her forearm.“And so is this.” He grasped her wrist when she placed his plate in front of him, gently massaging a darkening bruise on her elbow. “Where...?”

Having been raised and grown up in Air Nomad culture, Tenzin feels discomfort whenever his wife arrives home with another souvenir from work on her body (often temporary, sometimes somewhat permanent).

“A new group of non-benders instigated a faceoff with some benders near the cultural center today,” The metalbender downplayed the encounter, removing her arm from his hold. “Good thing we got there just in the nick of time.”

“And got yourself something which is more than a nick,” He frowned at the four-inch long scarlet mark that was a stark contrast against her pale skin. “Lin,” He quickly ladled some seaweed soup into a bowl. He knew it had properties good for blood loss. “Please be careful.” He pushed the bowl towards her.

“I always am.” She caught the sober tone of his reminder. “Don’t worry, I make sure to assess the risks beforehand. I’m no longer that reckless and brash detective who attempted to arrest her sister.” She tried to make light of their conversation.

As if on cue, as with any other time that her scars or the origin of her scars were brought up, Tenzin delicately cupped her cheek and gave her a soft kiss. He was a husband seeking a reminder that all was well. He felt the familiar pressure on his lips as his wife pressed back to deepen their kiss. 

They both ended the kiss, breathing heavily. She smiled, finally accepting the soup.

The rest of the meal continued uneventfully. Tenzin complimented his spouse on her thoughtfulness on the meal. They talked about how their day went (”Tarrlock, that chattering hog-monkey, would not stop about this new ordinance he wanted to pass. I was sorely tempted to ring Mother and Fire Lord Izumi to influence their representatives to vote against it out of spite.” “Oh Tenzin, but you wouldn’t. 10 yuans on you that you would not push through with that.” “You’re right dear,” A sigh was heard. “I wouldn’t have.”) and how their respective families were faring (”Mom hasn’t still gotten in touch with Su and I.” “Should we be worried?” “I don’t think so. Lord Zuko is out travelling as well - 10 yuans bet that they’re out on a life-changing field trip.” “Lin, what’s with you and 10 yuans??”).

-----

The couple decided to finish their dessert in the study.

Lin tucked her legs under as she got comfortable on the couch while Tenzin cleaned up (”You go ahead and relax, I’ll take care of the kitchen and dining table since you prepared the meal - well, most of it at least - ouuuuch woman, stop hitting me.”). She pulled out her (Su’s) novel to bide the time (yes, bide the time, she was not invested in the story of the lone ballerina who captivated the king in that one-night-only performance, nope, not invested at all, thank you very much) while waiting for her husband.

She had made it into a chapter and a half by the time Tenzin joined her. She got up to make space for him, then laid her head on his lap to continue reading while he elected to tackle his correspondence.

They passed the time in that position, with Tenzin alternately feeding Lin and himself some of the sliced moon peaches. The only sound was the occasional flip of pages and parchment being discarded on the side table.

Half-way into the book, Lin was making mental note to ask her younger sister if she had a copy of the sequel when the airbender released a deep breath.

“Is something wrong?” She lifted her eyes from the book and directed her attention to the face of the man above her, albeit a bit concealed by the beard from her point-of-view.

“The new Avatar has mastered Earthbending.” He indicated the letter he was perusing.

“That’s good news, right?” The earthbender sat up on her heels, taking her mother-in-law’s letter to go through it.

“It says here they’re inviting you to train the Avatar as her airbending master in five years time,” Lin felt her excitement building as she read Katara’s update. “Provided, however, that she passes her Firebending mastery test by then.” She knew how important this was to him. “Ten-!” She looked up and saw his faraway expression.

“Hey,” Lin tenderly took his face into her hands, looking into his eyes. Green met gray. 

Earth and air - their elements and their personalities were as opposite as they can go. While Lin Beifong learned early on how to master her emotions (which several times proved to be necessary in her line of work, sometimes even a matter of life and death), the man in shades of saffron and red before her wore his heart clearly. Even at the age of forty-six, he exuded an air of artlessness. Some of his detractors saw it as a weakness but she recognized it as his strength, the ingenuous sincerity which coated each of his interactions appealed to the constituents. Nonetheless, Lin knew him for as long as she was alive and she knew something was troubling him.

“Do you,” Like any earthbender worth his or her salt, she faced this head on. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Tenzin,” She knew they had made peace with it in the past but she needed to ask, yet again. “Do you regret it?” Do you regret choosing me - the unsaid question hung thickly in the air.

-----

The last airbender covered her right hand with his and leaned into her palm. “Never.” He knew she can feel his steady heartbeats as she held him. After a beat, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his.

Lin Beifong, while a confident woman, did need reassurances which only her husband can provide. He knew that she still experienced vestiges of guilt from time to time.

He saw it when she was reading the newspaper and an article called out the Chief of Police as a hard-ass with a heart of stone, unbending with the law and unbending in rehabilitating an extinct nation.

He saw it through the years as she accompanied him in various city council formal events and got asked on multiple occasions when they were going to start trying for kids. She would pleasantly smile, with a poise that would make the late Poppy Beifong proud. Then she would sweetly reply something along the lines of no, thank you, we’re not trying for kids but rest assured we’re frequently engaging in exercises that might (if we were not careful) result in one. Now, that (and the subsequent choking noise made by whichever pompous guest who dared ask) would make Toph Beifong proud.

He saw it whenever the entire family gathers at Air Temple Island to celebrate someone’s birthday and the Air Acolytes seem to walk on eggshells around her, never mind that technically she was the first lady of the nation.

Everyone else saw her smirk or her stoic blank face; no emotion betrayed by the absence of hunching of the shoulders or the lack of a furious blush on her complexion.

But Tenzin, her partner for most of her life, saw the little indicators - the tightening of her jaw, the stiffening of her spine, the whitening of her knuckles as she dug her nails into her palm... 

They simply did not know. They did not see her as a terrified child, fresh from being abducted by a convict on parole that her mother had put into jail years before her birth. It was the day that she first showed signs of metalbending as she broke off the chains the bound her. She was seven.

They did not see her stay up late as a teenager, waiting on the roof of one of the buildings in Air Temple island, scouring the horizon in the hopes that her mother might be coming home soon from a raid.

They did not see her collapse after returning to headquarters, after being beaten up (close to death) as a police captain caught in a turf war, getting more heat because of her ancestry. (”Bonus points in taking the metal woman down - her mother is the esteemed chief of police!” One of the fire-bending hooligans had spat.).

They did not see her weep neither did they hold her in their arms after a particularly difficult day on her job. She had murmured to him that she will never want to put a child, her child, in dangerous situations just because of the consequence of having her a mother. That would have been selfish. It was simply not an option.

Her (their) decision not to have children was publicly discussed and dissected. More than once, the usually calm Tenzin had blown up at the press to leave them alone. These only resulted in new heated rumors published the next day that he was probably selecting Air Acolytes across the Air Temples to impregnate to repopulate the Air Nation. If anything, while he was infuriated, Tenzin was glad to see Lin laugh out loud upon reading about it in the paper. His eldest brother Bumi had even called over just to check its veracity, volunteering to scout the United Republic in the next years in search for thick-eyebrowed large-nosed airheads cooped up in libraries across the temples.

Tenzin also dealt with the aftermath of these public set-downs once they returned to their home in Republic City. He would willingly offer the reassurance that only he can give her at her most vulnerable.

Even as the last airbender, Tenzin would do anything to make his metalbender happy.

-----

Satiated and relaxed, the couple adjusted their position on the couch, with Tenzin airbending the throw blanket over them. He noticed Lin fingering the letter from the Southern Water Tribe again.

“It’s just that - they’re asking us to move to the South Pole for the duration of Korra’s training.”

Lin raised her eyebrows at this. “Oh.” 

“But no,” Tenzin moved to put an arm around her as she sat in his embrace. “I wouldn’t want to uproot you. It’s not for a few more years; we’ll figure something.” He distractedly finished the rest of the peaches and cream from the crystal bowl. Between the two of them, he was the one with the sweet tooth. “I could start training Oogi for frequent long distance trips to the South Pole, if only to ready him for my frequent back-and-forth to you in Republic City.”

The sound of the scraping of the spoon against the bowl echoed in the companionable silence.

“Or, Tenzin, maybe - what if,” Lin played with the smoothness of the blanket. “You invite her to Air Temple Island?” She avoided his inquisitive gaze. “I mean, we can reinstate the White Lotus around the temple for security and prepare the island for airbending training. You’ve probably have enough in the coffers for a refurbishment on the Island, given that it’s been a while since your family lived there. But those would be best put into use in rebuilding the other temples; I have enough money to add from the Beifong inheritance, we could use that - it will be my home too, you know -.” She was interrupted by a tight embrace and a kiss.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” The response he got was just a laugh. “But, really, are you sure about this?” He rubbed her side gingerly, taking care not to hit any of her bruises.

“Of course,” Lin grinned at him. “But you better start training again - sounds like this Korra would be a tough kid to manage.” She patted his chest.

“Train you say?” Tenzin had a glint in his eye. “Why don’t we start now,” He picked up his surprised wife as he carried her in the direction of their bedroom. “Let’s get you all limbered up and flexible then let’s give your sister a call so I can give her a blow-by-blow account on how you need not be a dancer to limber up.” Laughter trailed behind him as Lin made sure to metalbend their door close.

Yes, they treasured quiet Friday nights at home like this.

=====

Related:

Follow-up fanfic: The Airbender’s Wife:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4

[vanchlo]

Under The Bed / Chapter Three, “Down”

->   SERIES MASTERLIST

->   MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing???

WORD COUNT: 5.9k words

LEGEND:

* : jump in time

* * : change in point of view

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@berrynarrybanana

@wotamelonsugar​

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

Even after I slipped under the bed, and back into my world, her sobs still wrench at my heart and fill my head. It doesn’t matter how far I get away from her door that looks like a pixie threw up on it, pink as can be, I still hear them. If anything, they get louder and swarm around in my head. I shake it a bajillion times, wishing they would leave, and that when I pass other monsters who pat me on the back for the sound of her wails, I wish all the more for them to be gone.

THEN

He kept doing that thing, and by thing I mean, showing up and scaring me.

Every night, he popped out from underneath my bed without fail, and scared the bejeezus out of me. He left me crying into my butterfly pillow from an impossibly horrible face he made, an insult he made that I took to heart, or because he wrecked one of my stuffed animals. I didn’t know how to get him to stay away, even if he was kind of cute I’d never tell him that, and when he screws up his blue face to look like a goblin, it’s not very cute. 

I dreaded him coming tonight, just like any other night for the last two weeks. He never missed a night, and I had gotten used to staying up past my bedtime until he arrived, sure that that would save me some pain instead of getting woken up to frogs in my bed and gum stuck in my hair. He had told me about doing that to Polly down the street last week, and the last thing I wanted to do was explain that to my parents in the morning. So, I stayed awake even though it was so hard on so many nights. Tonight, it was hard, but in a different way, because I wanted more than anything to be asleep after my third horrible day of school. I had no choice in the matter, and it worked out that Harry showed up right at nine-thirty. 

“Wakey wakey, bratty!” a voice booms, and I jump awake. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I moan, unsure of who or why I announce myself. 

“Shiiiiiiit, I was hopin’ ya wouldn’t be. ‘s much mo’ fun t’ scare ya awake, ya hardly made a peep jus’ then,” the voice tuts with a clicking of their tongue. A puff leaves my lips when the light flicks on and his menacing figure appears before my eyes. “Welcome back t’ tha world o’ yer nightmares, Josie, loud and proud. Afraid ‘m back fer anotha night t’ scare yer socks off.” 

The My Little Pony covers slide off of me, and I fix the sleeve of my flowery night gown that rode up my shoulder. Ignoring him, I’m met with relief when my fingers grasp the cold familiarity sitting on my nightstand. 

“What tha hell, are ya givin’ me tha cold shoulder now?” he retorts with a volume in his voice, but I kn- I hope that he won’t talk loud enough to wake up Mommy and Daddy. “Since bloody when d’ya do that, Josie?”

“I’m reading, shhh,” I tell him, turning past the first few pages of a Clifford the Big Red Dog book until I find the first page with a picture of him and his owner, Emily Elizabeth. 

“Oh my days, I can’t believe tha nerve you have, girl,” the monster spits back at me, but with shaking fingers, I try to shove his voice away. I have an even harder time finding happiness in the pictures when it’s so hard to forget that he’s standing right there, ready to attack. “Ya think ya can talk t’ me like that, a full-on monster? Tsk, tsk, you dunno who yer talkin’ t’ here, ya li’l-.” 

“Eh-eh-v . . ugh . . Eh-eh-v-r-e-e . . ,” I try to sound out the word at the bottom of the page, but it’s so long and I don’t know this one. “Eh-ev-ree . . won loves Clifford, b-b-b-bee-c-c-cah-ssssss-e he has good m-m-m-a-a-a-n-n-er-r-r-r-s. You don’t have good manners, Harry, that’s something you need to work on.” 

“‘Scuse me, Josie Stephens? I reckon ya don’t even know what tha hell manners are, now d’ya, ya li’l shit?”

Gulping, I tear my eyes away from his angry green pair. Looking back to the book, I try to focus on reading the next part. I get the first two words, but then I’m stuck again, sounding it out like a dummy. I don’t understand how so many of my classmates already know how to read, and I don’t! 

Creeeeeeeeeak!

My eyes shoot up and find Harry is closer, he must have taken a step towards me. As soon as I had looked up, his feet inch away from me, and I wish I hadn’t. Rubbing at my eyes sleepily, I take a deep breath and try again. 

“M-m-m-m-y-s-s-s-eh-l-l-.” 

“Myself,” Harry pipes up, and when I forget the book to look at him, we’re both shocked. “Tha word ‘s ‘myself’. ‘I taught him myself,’ it says,” he tells me slowly. Maybe, just maybe, he sounds normal and like me. Who would have thought that could be? “Duh, ‘s an easy word, even a Kindie like you shoulda known that, stupid.” 

Shaking my head, I move the hair out of my eyes and continue to read, quieter than before, and yet I feel his eyes on me like a hot pair of sun rays. 

“Clifford says p-p-p-l-eeeeee-s w-w-he-n he a-a-s-s-. Why are you laughing at me? I’m only five, we don’t know how to read yet,” I say, pointing my eyes at him. A sound flies from his lips that I’ve never heard before in that way. I think it might be a laugh, a happy one. 

“Sounds like I jus’ heard a five year old swear right there. Looks like me job ‘s done, ruining you by teachin’ you yer first curse. Ass,” he titters, walking away and towards the end of my bed. 

My throat begs for a glass of water and the words that didn’t make sense anyways become blurry in front of me. Swiping under my eyes, I get rid of the tears the second they warm my cheeks. 

“W-What’s this word?” I ask nervously, keeping my head down and refusing to look at him. I know that he likes to see my tears, and I don’t want him to, because then he only becomes meaner. Sniffling, I listen as his steps creak along my floor and his musty smell tickles at my nose. 

“Which one?” he groans as if I had asked the most stupid question in the entire world. I don’t answer out loud, and instead, I point to the one that starts with an ‘s,’ but my tired brain doesn’t want to figure it out. 

“Sumthin’,” he responds, and it pulls my eyes up and over to him. The light catches in the caramel colored streaks in his hair, and the gold bits in his eyes. Shocks of pink around my room from posters, stuffed animals, books, and my Hello Kitty clock look funny behind him. “Something,” he repeats clearly, yanking the book from my hand to point at a word. “D’ya know this one at least?”

“P-p-p-puh-l-,” I begin, but he interrupts me with a whine of ‘you jus’ read it, c’mon now,’ and I continue until he nods when I say ‘please.’

“And this one?” he continues, pointing to one that starts with a ‘t’ that takes me a few tries until I get it. “What comes afta ‘thank’ usually?”

“You,” I tell him, and he nods, at some point perching himself on the side of my bed like a bird. I almost think I hear him say ‘good,’ but it’s gone before I can decide if I did or not. 

The books lining my shelf across the room under the window itch for me to go and grab them, and sound out the words with him that look like nonsense to me. I hold back, and ask Harry to repeat what he said. 

“Yer fallin’ ‘sleep,” he notes, bumping shoulders with me. I shake my head and blink hard, knowing that he’s right. “He says ‘thank you’ when he gets sumthin’. And he writes a thank-you note when someone gives him a present . . ,” and before I know it, the words from the pages are dropping from his lips, slowly, telling the story. 

I don’t remember my head falling onto his shoulder or him letting it stay there. I definitely didn’t know that when I let my eyes rest for one second that I was going to fall asleep, and that the next time it would all feel like a dream, a far away dream that could never be true. 

Because there’s a monster under my bed who’s really gross and mean to me, and he just read me a bedtime story and was maybe nice to me. 

That couldn’t be, could it? 

* *

The ripe smell of mothballs and wet dogs welcomes me back, ripping away the sweet relief of berries and cream that graced my senses for the last however-long-it-was. My feet land with a loud clap! onto the shambles of wooden decking below. I kick the forgotten remnants of a Scooby Doo stuffy away with the torn toe of my Converse. Loud, raucous laughter echoes around me and is followed by a spit and whizz of a bottle rocket nearby. It paints the ink black sky with shocks of gold and white for a few moments, suddenly making me miss the light. The next thought makes me stumble over a lost pink ukulele with broken strings. I think I miss the smell and the warmth, no matter if I never get cold.

How the fuck can I miss that obnoxiously sweet smell of ripe red strawberries, and decadent cream that they’re drowned in? 

Would you shut the fuck up, Harry? What, are you finally going nuts here, on your four hundred and eighth year? 

“Oi!” somebody shouts, yanking me from my thoughts much to my gratitude. “Wait up, would ya?!” they continue in their familiar lilt. Stuffing my hands away in my pockets, met with the typical cool temperature of my own body, my feet kick up sand clouds when they stop suddenly. 

“What d’ya want, Ni?” I spit back, not bothering to turn my head. His cackle accompanies my boring slide down the Hill of Doom Jr. that he rides like a wave. 

“Who put a stick up yer arse, ‘arry?” he gripes, almost losing his footing once we reach the end. “Not a good night with yer kiddies or summat?”

“Sure,” I answer stubbornly, my eyes flitting past the weathered signs slapped onto the pole, pointing every which way with words scrawled onto them. Minneapolis. Chicago. Detroit. Los Angeles. Washington D.C. 

“I found some peanut butta at one o’ mine. I s’pose I could be a good mate and give ya some, but y’know what ‘s gonna cost ya. Figure I should get even mo’ than that seein’ as how ‘m deathly allergic.” 

“Don’t want any,” I retort, walking around the scuffed Spongebob skateboard and Kim Possible figurine lying beside it, missing her signature head of red hair. But it’s forgotten when my foot steps on something, and I lift it to find a plush Hello Kitty with its head torn off, the white more like a light brown now from all of the shoe prints muddling it. A little stuffy that I know all too well, and had forgotten my handy work with until now.

Somehow, it bothers me more than it should, and tips me over the edge. 

“What d’ya mean ya don’t-.” 

“I said I don’t want any fuckin’ peanut butter, Ni, and I never said I wanted yer company, now fuckin’ did I?”!” I explode, whirling around and scaring him to the point that he almost runs into me. His unruly eyebrows sink and the neon purple in his eyes shrinks, the scaring of a monster quite comical in the thought. 

“Fuck you, ‘arry. Dunno who shit in yer bed, yer always high as a kite afta gettin’ done with that Stephens girl. Jus’ cuz ya couldn’t scare tha lights outta her dis time doesn’t mean ya hafta jump down me throat cuzza it,” he says curtly, shaking his head of silver hair that sticks up at all ends. Muttered words float past me as he walks away with the pep out of his step. 

“‘s not that I couldn’t . . ‘s that I didn’t wanna . . fer tha first time,” I curse under my breath, kicking a pink stone riddled with holes off the edge, not waiting to hear its plink! at the bottom of Ghastly Gorge.

Clenching my jaw to stop me from saying all of the words that ricochet inside of my skull, I take a few turns until I step onto a rickety lift. Ignoring the two vampires who cling to each other’s necks with loud suckling noises, I tip my head back and close my eyes against the yellow light of the naked bulb above me. I don’t even lose my footing as the contraption whips from side to side and up and down with the loudest of screeches, lastly halting with a piercing ding! 

Sulking my way off and back to unsolid ground, the giggles from the ghoulish pair continue behind me, suddenly making me wish Liza was here. Biting my tongue, I try to forget about her, and the other her. Yanking open the door, it falls off its top hinge and I leave it there hanging, not giving a shit clearly. The squeals of the fireworks are almost out of earshot, but now, the shouting from some kind of game trickles past. 

“Can’t even get peace and quiet here o’ all places?” I mutter with a long sigh, pushing harshly at the metal gate. It hits the fence with a deafening clang! of metal on metal. 

“Heya, Harry!” somebody shouts and I nod and wave. More ‘hellos’ follow between the gravestones as I kick my feet along the black dirt path. “Oh, on your way to The Rotting River, I see . . Let’s leave him be, lads, he doesn’t look too terrible, the poor bloke,” Henry the Horrid whispers ever so loudly and I toss a hand up in the smallest of thanks, only bringing the memory back bigger and brighter.

Since when do I have fucking manners?

Their transparent white bodies float away with their silent steps, and from the corner of my eye, I see Marcus speed away like a flash of moonlight. 

“Why? Why? Why in tha fuck why?!” I scream, pitching the hundred pound rock into the black water, far and away. “What tha absolute fuck am I doin’? ‘m gonna ruin it all, everythin’ ‘ve ever built!” the red rock crashes into the water and under the green cast of the orb hung in the sky, it smatters onyx droplets across the green. I pluck another one from the ground at random, in between shards of bones, glass, and lost lovers necklaces, propelling them into the lazy waves of the river, wishing it was crashing tonight like the throes of my heart. Something I thought I hadn’t had for the last few centuries, but here I am, low and behold, seeming to have one.

That doesn’t happen, it’s not supposed to be. My kind . . we’re not supposed to use them, or even have a working one. 

How is it that when I saw the glassy tears in Josie’s eyes tonight, it felt like it was being squeezed in my chest? I can’t explain away the warmth I felt in it when her head fell onto my shoulder, and then when I pulled the covers over her tiny, sleeping body. 

I broke a hundred dozen rules tonight, enough to get me sent to the headstones just over the hill, and I can’t decide whether I care or not. 

* *

The tater tot casserole sitting in my stomach tried to lull me into an early sleep that next night, but with determination, I ignored it. I sat in bed with my school books in my lap, flipping through the pictures and trying to find familiar words. I knew that I wouldn’t find many, if any, but it didn’t stop me from trying. 

I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there after dinner looking through the books and making up my own stories, until my tired eyes glanced to the window. There I sat, watching the last few rays of sun be sucked back into the ground, or that’s how it looked. 

Smack!

“Arentcha a li’l old t’ be havin’ shit like this?” a voice pipes up, and before I see him, I smile. I really wish that I hadn’t, because when he turns around, that dark glint in his eye has returned. I don’t know why I thought his voice sounded- what did it sound like, like it had last night? When the words from the Clifford The Big Red Dog book fell from his chapped lips? 

All of my questions are answered when there’s a loud crash! and my Hello Kitty pink clock smashes into a puddle of glass at his feet. “Whoops,” he giggles as I suck in air loudly, the dirty bottoms of his shoes crunching through the glass that I’m sure I’ll never get out of my carpet now.

“What, ya think ‘m gonna bloody read t’ you again or sumthin’, brat?” Harry says, nodding to the pile of books that I tighten my grip on now. “Not gonna speak t’ me, are you? Y’know that’s never a good bet, Josie Stephens,” he continues, each word laced with disgust from his lips. He licks them with his chalky pink tongue as the floor creaks with his nearing. 

“Don’t!” I squeal when he reaches for the books, but I put up a fight. 

“It never does any good fightin’ me, li’l shit, ya should know this by now,” he retorts, giving one last yank with his hands and painfully ripping the books from my grasp. “Ooooo, what d’we got here, huh? More stupid Clifford, Scooby Fucking Doo, Pussy Tom and that minx Jerry, and Peter Bloody Pan. Hmmm, looks like a good lot ya got here, Josie. I reckon they won’t be very easy t’ read if they’re in shreds.” 

“Harry, no! Please, those are from school, they’re not mine! I’ll get in trouble with my teacher,” I beg, getting on all fours and crawling across my bed towards him. One look is all he needs to get me to stop, because I know if I took one more step towards him he’d pull out one of those faces that’d make me wet the bed . . again. 

“Even better then, love,” he smiles that mischievous smile with his yellow teeth that he swipes his tongue across. I feel a lurch in my chest when the first book begins to look like rainbow snow falling from his fingers, then the next, and the others while he laughs loudly. My pleas for him to stop don’t make any difference, and I fear that they only make his devilish smile brighter and wider across his blue tinted cheeks. 

“Why’d you do that?!” I almost scream, and one of his unruly eyebrows raises in answer. 

“How many times do I gotta bloody tell ya t’ shut yer mouth?” he lips back in return, tossing the last handful of papery snow behind him. 

“No, I won’t! Why’d you read to me last night if you were just gonna do that?” I sob, angry words flying with the tears. It’s only a second, but I think that I surprised him. “I thought you could be nice!” 

“Ya well, ‘m not nice, Josie. ‘m a bloody monster, I dunno why you expected that I could ever be nice. Me job ‘snt t’ be nice, ya brat, and that was a fluke - a one time thing that’s never gonna happen ‘gain, ya hear? Stop cryin’ ‘bout yer bloody books and fuckin’ go t’ bed, ya cry baby,” Harry hisses, tightening the frayed red and black flannel tied around his body covered in holey black clothes. 

“But you can be nice, I saw it! You are nice, Harry, if you just try!” 

“What’d I say, li’l girl, huh? Go t’ bed befo’ I make ya, and ya don’t wanna see that happen, I can promise ya that,” he answers with a stern finger pointed at me. The lights flick off with no warning and I fall back when he pushes me onto my covers. I don’t remember when he left, because I was too wrapped up in the tears flowing down my cheeks, and the fear leaking through them. 

He’s right, I am stupid for thinking that the monster who lives under my bed could ever be nice. 

*  *

Even after I slipped under the bed, and back into my world, her sobs still wrench at my heart and fill my head. It doesn’t matter how far I get away from her door that looks like a pixie threw up on it, pink as can be, I still hear them. If anything, they get louder and swarm around in my head. I shake it a bajillion times, wishing they would leave, and that when I pass other monsters who pat me on the back for the sound of her wails, I wish all the more for them to be gone. Suddenly, I’m not proud of them, and I had thought that the few tears she shed the other night bothered me, but this is anything but that. It rips apart my insides how they dig into the crevices of my mind, and how they pull me back to her. 

With every step past the cracked headstones weathered of names and dates of life, my feet become heavier, like cement blocks. With each step, they grow a pound in weight, and the stones and boulders I chuck into the blackness can’t even compare. The shrieks and requital of the pissed off mermaids and slimy grindylows below don’t throw a damper on my exaggerated rock skipping. 

“We’re tryna sleep here, ye fool!” one of the pinched faced mermaids bellows at me, propelling the sharp edged stone back at me. 

“Does it look like I fuckin’ care what yer doin’?” I scream back, chucking a bigger stone in her direction. She yelps before her muddled neon pink hair disappears below the murky surface. “Fuckin’ mermaids, bloody lot still hate me afta I broke tha heart of yer beloved Hera last century,” I mutter under my breath, at last falling to sit on a smooth, red boulder. Prying the minuscule shards of glass from the soles of my shoes, my dormant lungs beg for air, something that stuck with me past my days as a human.

I don’t need to breathe or let alone be gasping for air, but it never escaped me, although most other mortal things certainly did. 

It feels as if a stone stronger and wider than those beneath my feet sits lodged in my throat when I try to swallow, her face stuck behind my eyes. My throat soon feels akin to Darkly Desert a few miles away and the emerald reflected on the toiling waves grows messed up in front of me. 

“What tha bloody hell?” I curse, swiping a finger across my cheek and feeling wetness greet my chalky skin. “Christ Almighty,” I breathe, feeling the cool tears scatter my cheeks as my nose sniffles accordingly. “I can’t remember tha last time I had a bleedin’ cry, certainly not since ‘ve been a monster. Tha fuck ‘s happenin’ t’ me?” I croak, my head collapsing into my hands. 

“Gotcha heart broken by another girl, Harry?” a slinky voice asks, waves lapping against the rocks at my feet. I don’t need to peek my eyes open to know who it is, their revolting voice and squeaky, wicked laugh tells me the whole story. 

“Would ya fuck off, Freya? N’body asked you,” I crack, toeing my shoe through a puddle of rotten weeds that I fling at her. She scoffs loudly and it’s unbeknownst to me whether she scurries away or lingers. 

“Me’s hopin’ she did good work on it, if ya even have anythin��� left in there. Guessin’ ‘s a shriveled ol’ black thing by this time,” Freya bites back, making a loud exit and whipping her tail to spray me with the water that reeks of rotted corpses and fish. 

“Like you’ve ever had one, Frey, it takes one t’ know one!” I shout, standing to my feet and tossing one more stone in her direction. “N’body likes yer kind anyways, jus’ glorified fish with boobs, you are,” I groan with a shake of my head, my feet crunching with every step over the tiny bones that her and her posse toss to the shore like it’s their own garbage bin. 

Questions swim through my mind as I hike up the hill muddied by last night’s boiling hot rain showers, wondering how I can fix this. I jumped right past the wondering and decision making, and have landed right at the ‘how.’

I really do have a problem here, but the one that concerns me isn’t the existential one of sorts. 

“Open alfucking ready!” I shout, pounding my fist on the chipped wooden door, streaked with red. I’m not sure if I want to ask the question of what made it red. “Zekey, c’mon open up , you git!” I continue, lifting my fist for another blow right when the door swings open. 

“Da fuck d’yeh want, ‘arry?” he sighs in return, rubbing at his eyes and only further smearing the black makeup surrounding them. “Shouldn’t yeh be out on yer route, and not buggin’ me?”

“‘m uh, in between kiddies right now, Z. Ya busy, mate?” I explain softly, biting at my nails but there’s not much left to bite. 

“Apparently not, and would it even matta if I was? ‘m sure yeh’d still barge right in, wouldntcha?” he tuts, turning around and leaving the door open for me. “By tha way, did yeh fookin’ tell Ly’ that I revoked his invitation? Told yeh not t’, I found him snoggin’ me girl and that’s reason enuff t’ banish him from here, I reckon.” 

“Nah, that wasn’t me. Maybe it was Ni, I dunno. Can we get on with this, ‘s important,” I rush, tip toeing a careful trail through his doorway littered with empty beer bottles, cardboard pizza boxes, and cigarette butts. “D’y’know how t’ bloody pick up fer once, Z? Yer not even a monster, so ya can’t fall back on tha ‘messy monster’ cliche, mate.” 

“I dont’ rememba askin’ yeh, ‘arry. Now, what tha fook d’ya want that I had t’ wake up fer?” Zeke responds with disdain laced in his voice, collapsing onto his maroon sofa that’s by far seen better days, perhaps last century even. 

“‘m takin’ up that favor o’ mine ya owe me, and don’t even say sumthin’ like, ‘oh, what favor?’ Cuz ya bloody well know what favor, need I remind you?” 

“No, no. My bloody God, ‘arry, jus’ name it already. ‘m not gettin’ any younger sittin’ here waitin’ fer yeh t’ explain yerself away, am I now?” he sighs, raking a hand through his spiked, electric green hair. I nod and with an unnecessary breath, I steady myself, and prepare the sentence that I’ve rehearsed over and over. 

“I need some o’ yer Fix-It Dust,” I say slowly, waiting for his reply.

“That’s all? God, yeh scared me, thinkin’ I needed t’ hex somebody, bring a lover back from tha dead, or wipe a memory,” Z chuckles, springing up from the sofa and across the room to his bookshelf that’s never changed in appearance since that day I met him at the Wobbly Waterfall and came back here. “There, easy ‘nough,” he announces a moment later, tossing a small, dark bottle at me. The bookshelf behind him slides closed, and the fluorescent bottles coloring the rainbow disappear behind the moving novels. 

“Thanks, Z.” 

“Don’t mention it, Hare. I dunno why yeh think that warrants a favor,” he replies with a soft laugh and shrug of his shoulders. 

“What d’ya mean?” 

“‘s bloody dust, mate, not a bleedin’ spell, jinx, or body swap. Tell anybody I did this fer you, and yer screwed, but tha favor still stands. Good luck with whateva tha fuck it ‘s, I don’t care and don’t wanna,” he insists, waving a hand at me. 

“I appreciate it, mate, thank you.” 

“Since when d’yeh have fricken manners, Hare? Yeh gettin’ soft on me, or sumthin’?” he giggles, crossing his pale arms riddled with black ink, one or two of them my own handiwork. 

“Oh, would ya learn when t’ shut yer fuckin’ mouth, Zeke?” I scoff with a tut of my head, turning around and kicking a few beer bottles out of my path. 

“Hare, a softie? It really mus’ be tha end o’ days a comin’,” he titters from behind me, soon the sound of his TerroVision roaring to life. 

“Mention that t’ anyb’dy and ‘ll knock a few mo’ o’ yer teeth out, mate!” I counter, hearing the last few licks of his laugh before the door slams behind me. 

“This shite better magic me way back onto her good side,” I sigh, turning the dark bottle over in my hands, watching the flecks of fluorescent orange trickle around, and wondering just what the hell I’m doing. “I need t’ fix me fuck up befo’ ‘s too late,” I say, shoving it into my pocket hurriedly and padding down a flight of chipped steps, my heart thumping harder with every step that nears her. 

* 

Her decadent smell of berries and cream welcomes me back first, and then the sound of her slow snores. Her Scooby Doo night light smiles at me ironically, shedding light on the piles of torn paper on the cream carpet. Never, did I feel so guilty. The dried tears staining her cheeks and the heart wrenching sniffling in her sleep only make matters worse. Her mattress sags under my weight and I watch how her chest rises and falls with every breath, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing, but then again, I’ve never tried to remember it. I thumb away the strands of golden hair cast over her face, her smell wafting over me when I brush my thumb against her warm skin. Toasty breaths against my hand remind me that they feel like icicles, and that somehow long ago, they used to feel like her. They used to feel human, and so did I. 

“‘m so sorry, Josie, for ruinin’ yer books and clock. Pinky promise ‘ll fix ‘em. Right here and now,” I whisper softly, placing the wild strand of hair behind her ear adorned with an earring of a little, pink ice cream cone. Standing up, I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her. 

She’s not really a heavy sleeper or a light one, I’ve found, somewhere in the middle instead. With my back to her, my grimey shoes come to freeze before the flurry of colored paper below me. Nibbling at the inside of my cheek, fretting, I fish the bottle from my pocket. The brown cork slides from the opening easily with a pop! before I turn it around in my hands, finding Zekey’s chicken scratch on the other side. 

After sprinkling on your screw up, chant these words and it’ll magic your mistake away, like it never happened. Three times is a charm. 

Fixus Motalus 

“Easy enuff,” I mutter, stuffing the cork away into a pocket. Tipping the bottle to the side, I tap my finger against it to watch the glowing dust fall to the floor. “Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus,” I recite and within a blink, the pile of torn books sparkles before an imaginary wind kicks them up into a tornado of sorts, mending themselves back together before my smiling eyes. 

My steps leave creaks along her carpeted floor, something I’ve always hated, because it gives me away. I just hope it won’t do that very thing now, when I need to remain in secrecy more than ever before. 

“C’mon, Posie, where’s yer markers? They’ve gotta be here sumwhere, bein’ a little kiddie and all,” I sigh, my eyes searching her desk that, of course, is a baby pink. Only when I pull open a drawer do I find a stack of plain paper, and a plastic box chalk full of markers. 

Plucking one of the papers from the stack and a blue marker, I quickly scrawl a note on it before the cap clicks! back onto the marker. I’m careful to shut the drawer quietly and to not move a thing from its place, besides the Aladdin water bottle on her bed stand. Beside it, I find room to place the shiny pile of books with her teacher’s name written on the front, and with my note sat on top. 

She continues to snooze away, unknowing of my presence, and ignoring the crackling of glass below my feet at the end of her bed. As silence trickles through the house, I watch until every last sparkling fleck has fallen from the bottle to the floor, leaving it empty. A small tornado of sharp glass whirls into the air above the floor, and like a puzzle, they fit themselves back into the pink frame of the clock. With a whooooooosh!, it flies itself back up the wall and to the nail that it hung from, a shiny glint on its glass. 

“I dunno what yer doin’ t’ me, Josephine May Stephens,” I cluck softly, hands stuffed in my pockets as I trudge over to her bed and find a seat in front of her. “But I know ‘s no good, that’s fo’sure . . cuz I think I may be gettin’ a soft spot for you . . and monsters don’t get soft spots for kiddies, we hate you lot typically. Yet, here I am, thinkin’ I might be likin’ a kiddie. ‘m in fer real trouble with you, aren’t I, lovie?” 

* *

Sun stretches through my blinds the next morning, trying to reach me. Groaning, I turn over in my bed and call back to my mom when she knocks on my door, asking if I’m awake. Flying up to sit, my eyes race around the room, hoping she won’t walk in. 

“Alright, honey. Breakfast is ready, come and eat before it’s cold.” 

“Okay, Mom!” I reply, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I lift the covers, accidentally hitting my bedside table. Something falls to the floor with a slap! and my tired eyes follow curiously.

“What was that? I didn’t have anything on the table last night,” I yawn, my feet falling onto the carpet. “Huh?” I exclaim with wonder, falling to my knees and picking up the pile of books, the very same stack that Harry shredded to pieces last night. Questions roll through my head and no answers come as I flip through the pages that are just like before, not even a page tear in sight. “This is really weird . . Am I still dreaming?” I mumble. Something tells me to lift my head and when I look at the wall, there sits my Hello Kitty clock with her arms telling me the time, ticking along just fine. 

Huffing, I glance back to the books but they’re forgotten when I see a piece of paper on the floor. Wait, that wasn’t there before, was it? I never wrote a note or colored last night before bed. Reaching a hand out, I pick it up and find that this morning can only get weirder, and weirder. 

“If only I could read you, because I bet you’re from Harry, and then all of this silliness would make sense to me,” I huff, stashing the note in my side table’s drawer and trudging downstairs, wondering what to expect tonight from the monster under my bed who signs his notes with a really bad drawing of a monster.

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 1825 - Edo

Notes: I’ve been trying to figure out a way to do this one for a yonk! I couldn’t resist, especially given the first time we see Aziraphale in almost-present-day in the show :)

1825 – Edo

“I can’t believe you just did that!”

Crowley strode onwards without looking back, a shadow lost in the mantle of the rain. “You know I make trouble wherever I go.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said, hurrying after him, his geta clattering on the cobblestones, his waxed umbrella held high, raindrops drumming noisily on it. He had heard the news in the marketplace and when he had spotted the demon in the streets of the city, two and two had added up far too clearly. “But there’s trouble and there’s driving off foreigners completely! I hardly think that’s fair to the people here or out there. Isolationism is hardly beneficial to any society!”

Crowley stopped where he was and turned. Aziraphale could see the muscles in his jaw twitching and his hands clenching. The demon must’ve noticed his attention, because he shoved his hands inside the damp sleeves of his kimono.

“Tell me this,” he said through gritted teeth, “If Heaven told you to do the same, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale sighed unhappily. “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose so.” He moved a little closer, tilting the umbrella so it sheltered the demon too. “But it really doesn’t seem fair at all.”

Crowley’s taut expression softened. “Does it ever?”

Aziraphale gazed at him. Lately, Crowley had been growing more and more gloomy and pessimistic. A sign of the times, Aziraphale supposed. Ever since that damned volcano had thrown the whole world into disarray, the poor fellow had never fully regained his good humour. He looked leaner too, whittled away, the sharp lines of his black kimono doing little to hide it.

Crowley shifted under his scrutiny. “What are you doing here anyway, angel? You never said anything about a job in these parts.”

Aziraphale pinked a little. “It’s more… follow-up than an actual task, I suppose,” he admitted. “I was in these parts last year. Divine inspiration. That sort of thing.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I was rather hoping to see how it all turned out.”

Crowley cocked his head, his tightly-bound-up hair gleaming by the light from a nearby lantern. “Art, music or food?”

“Pardon?”

One side of Crowley’s mouth twitched up. “I know you, angel. You wouldn’t follow up unless it was one of those three things.”

Aziraphale knew he ought to puff up with indignation and reproach, but it had been so long since Crowley had even tried to tease him that he simply put out his chin and folded his arms over the cream folds of his kimono, the ripple of the printed feathers on the sleeve overlapping his discreet blue and brown patterned obi. “If you must know, it’s food.”

“Ha!” The triumphant smile was barely a shadow of its former self. The demon glanced up the narrow street between the wooden houses, then back at the angel. “Should be off.”

Aziraphale reached out before he could stop himself, touching Crowley’s trailing sleeve. “Would you like to see?” he asked. It felt like an echo of a time, nearly two millennia ago. Wine and oysters to cheer a disheartened demon. Crowley’s lips narrowed to a line and to stave off the coming rejection, Aziraphale added, “They also have the most marvellous wine. They make it from rice!”

“Wine, eh?”

Aziraphale tugged lightly on his sleeve. “To celebrate your mischief?”

For a brief, aching moment, he could read the indecision and some other darker emotion in Crowley’s face, then the demon dipped his head.

“Go on, then. Let’s see what nonsense you’ve been putting in peoples’ heads now.”

Relief bubbled up with laughter and Aziraphale flapped a hand. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit,” he said, turning and motioning for Crowley to walk alongside him back in the direction of the river. Crowley’s zori-clad feet barely made a sound compared to his own clattering shoes on the wet road. “They’ve been using all the component parts for quite some time, the fellow I inspired was simply working on a new twist.”

Crowley chuckled quietly. “I’m appalled, angel,” he said, though it pained Aziraphale how flat and tired Crowley’s voice was. “Changing a classic? Are you sick?”

“Oh, hush,” he said, gently chiding.

Around them, the narrow street widened into one of the thoroughfares that led towards the water, the scent of the evening tide washing through the city. Lanterns glowed and bobbed outside the teahouses and eateries, the indigo banners flapping and snapping in the heavy autumn breeze.

From behind closed doors, the scents of hot pots and fragrant food drifted along with muted conversations and music and, occasionally, raucous laughter from the drinking houses. Though night was rapidly falling, the city was far from quiet.

“In here,” Aziraphale said, when he finally spotted the familiar doorway. The sliding door was open onto the street and inside, there was warmth and light. People were coming and going and he couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure at the satisfied faces.

Fortunately, they were easily accommodated. He pretended not to notice the small and rather deliberate gesture Crowley made, especially not when it led to a small booth spontaneously emptying out, the guests hooting and laughing as they wove off into the evening.

The booth itself could easily have seated half a dozen people around the square table, flanked with wooden pillars and screens to separate them from the next table. A paper lantern on the wall gave everything a pleasantly soft glow.

Aziraphale slipped off his geta and knelt down at the low table, beaming up at Crowley. “Isn’t it charming?”

The demon folded down opposite him, slouching against the wall rather than kneeling. “Not exactly fancy, is it? Sitting on the floor?” The angel glanced at the very obvious wooden platform that all the booths were elevated on. “Fine, almost on the floor. Would’ve thought you’d demand a chair.”

Aziraphale gave him a stern look. “You know I never object to following local custom. Anyway, I rather like the mats they put down. They’re surprisingly comfortable.” He beamed at the server when she approached and wasted no time in requesting the chef’s latest creation as well as two bottles of sake.

“Two bottles?” Crowley said as the server trotted away. “You think we need that much?”

“They’ll be more than enough to make a start,” Aziraphale said primly. He folded his hands on the table and gazed around. “I do rather like it here. It’s such a shame that so many people won’t have the chance to experience it.”

Crowley groaned, slouching even lower against the wall. “Don’t go on about it,” he grumbled. “Probably won’t even last anyway. You know what Europe’s like. They’ll probably blow the doors off some time in the next few decades. Can’t have Johnny Foreigner refusing to do business, can you?” He made a face. “It’s amazing how persuasive you can be when you’ve got a bloody great cannon.”

Aziraphale winced at the bitterness in Crowley’s voice. The accuracy of his statement was neither here nor there. “I suppose,” he allowed, then bowed his head respectfully when the server return, setting down the bottles and cups.

One of Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “What are those supposed to be?”

“Sake cups,” Aziraphale said, setting one in front of each of them.

“Cups?” Crowley pushed up from the wall. “They look like anorexic sugar bowls.” He wrinkled his nose. “See why you asked for two bottles. We could knock one back in one go.”

Aziraphale ignored him to pour a measure of sake into each of their cups. “Moderation is considered a virtue.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley snorted. “You mean the appearance of moderation?” He pulled his cup closer, the base scraping across the polished table top. “Just because it’s a small cup doesn’t mean you have to stop filling it.”

Aziraphale smiled, picking up his own cup. “Precisely,” he said, raising it in a toast. “Kampai!”

That got a crooked grin out of the demon. “You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“I like seeing a job well done,” Aziraphale said and took a generous sip of sake. It really was quite lovely stuff. “Where are you off to once you finish here?”

Crowley took a considerably more generous gulp from his cup and hissed through his teeth. “Oof!”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s lips twitched. “Yes. That’s why I only got two small bottles. It has a bit of a kick.”

Crowley smacked his lips and eyed the cup, then knocked back the rest of the contents. “Good call,” he said.

Aziraphale leaned over the table to refill his cup. “So, where next?” he prompted.

Crowley shrugged. “No idea yet. You?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Much the same. I was considering exploring a little while I’m here. Take advantage of the warm weather.”

“And the wet,” Crowley grumbled. “Pisses down all the time.”

“It generally does in the rainy season,” Aziraphale observed, trying not to smile.

Crowley snorted, though it almost looked like he might smile. “Oh, shut up, angel.” He settled back against the side of the booth, knees jutting up between him and the table, his hands wrapped around the small sake cup.

They’d both worked their way through another cup each when the server returned with lacquered platters, which she set down on the table in front of them. Aziraphale made a sound of delight at the beautifully-presented little stacks of seafood and rice, decorated with sliced vegetables.

“Oh, it’s even better than I hoped!”

Crowley leaned forward, peering at it. “What’s in it?” He sniffed. “Doesn’t smell cooked.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “It’s served cold, my dear.” He picked up a pair of chopsticks and studied the neat, identical little domes of rice. “It’s entirely made of rice and seafood.”

“Handy, being near the sea, then?”

Aziraphale nodded happily and deftly picked up the rice-ball and its tuna crown and delicate band of seaweed holding it all together. “They’ve been eating all the parts for ages, but Hanaya had been playing with ways to improve it. I just gave him a gentle nudge.” He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Hm.”

“Not as good as it looks?” Crowley inquired, still eyeing it with suspicion.

Aziraphale scanned the array of platters and spotted the small dish among them. “Merely missing something,” he said. With a spot of soy sauce, the morsel was positively heavenly and he flapped his hand at Crowley as he chewed and swallowed. “Oh, you must try some!”

“Yeah,” Crowley said warily, picking up his own chopsticks. “But what is it?”

“They call it Edomae zushi.”

“Sushi?” Crowley picked some up and took a mouthful. He chewed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I don’t see this taking off.”

Aziraphale plucked another piece and smiled knowingly. “On this occasion,” he said, admiring the colour of the tuna by the lamp light. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

“Story of my life,” Crowley said with an exaggerated shudder and twisted up his face. He took another drink from his cup, then considered it and held it out.

“To zushi?” Aziraphale suggested impishly.

For a moment, Crowley cracked a smile. “To your eternal, misplaced optimism,” he said. “Kampai!”

[zippdementia]

Part 74 Alignment May Vary: The Big Secret

Welcome to our ongoing blog for our long long epic long adventure! The latest scenario is that the players just completed a huge air race on a planet inspired by the elemental plane of air. Now they need to collect their prize from the criminal organization, The Whispering Wind, whom they have asked to locate a crystal for them which can power their ship and bring them ever closer to home on Toril.

For the last several days, Carrick has been having a vision, a memory, of himself as a young child. It is a reoccuring nightmare: he is exploring the woods outside his home when he falls into a cave and breaks his leg. Stuck down there he... but no, he cannot remember...

The aftermath of the race is a rush of audience adulation and a proclamation from the Genie that the races are going to be shut down and reopened as arena battles (inspired by the bloodbath in the Tornado). Knick Knack also approaches the players and raises his hands to the sky as shackles suddenly appear there and are shattered, the result of them beating him fairly (or mostly fairly) in the race.

The players are also given gold, lots of it, something like 60,000 gold pieces in total, for winning both first and third place. There is a lot of hugging from Star, who jubilantly embraces all the party members (Carrick seems awkward, Aldric likes it, Imoaza despises it).

Aldric also shares a sad moment with the elementals, whom he asks to join his crew. They tell him that when he defeated their summoner, he cut their time short. Now they must return to the air, but they thank him for allowing them to ride with him and, for a brief moment, to be the wind. As a tribute to them, he empties some of his winnings out into the open sky, watching the coins fall and turn and glitter as they catch the sunlight.

And speaking of sunlight, as he does this, sun returns to the grey skies and a bright day breaks as far as the eye can see. Carrick thinks it is because of his gesture to the air elementals, and tells him so, but Aldric suspects otherwise and, watching him closely from the crowd, Imoaza does as well.

Aldric finds Immerstal from within the crowd and shares his idea: that the rod of storms has changed in his hands, no longer forcing dark clouds upon him but now directly reflecting his mood. Immerstal invites the group back to his brothel to celebrate their win and there examines the artifact. He tells Aldric that the rod has definitely bonded to him and has changed. It has taken a piece of this planet, an elder tempest, and is carrying its power within it. It has reached its true potential and could be devastating in the wrong hands.

“You are now its guardian,” Immerstal tells him. “You may never let it fall into the hands of those who would seek to gain power or authority with this.”

It is a solemn moment, broken when Immerstal curses and starts waving his hands in the air. Magic springs from them and he holds out a pocket of his robe, where pieces of furniture go flying into it from the brothel. The place empties out before the eyes of the companions, girls being pulled away from customers (and some of the customers being pulled with them), beer being yanked out of hands and people being shoved out of the door magically until the place is empty except for Star, Immerstal, Aldric, Carrick, Alyss, Jacobs, and Imoaza.

“I’m coming with you,” Immerstal announces. “The rod is too important to let just one pair of eyes watch it. I am officially requesting to join the Green Company.”

Aldric is overjoyed to bring his friend, and a powerful wizard to boot, into the company. Alyss says she and Jacobs will return to the ship and prepare it for departure and says the rest of them should go gather their prize from the Whispering Wind.

Indeed, as they leave the now defunct brothel (”best days of my life, running that place!” Immerstal says, wiping away a tear) they are approached by a silent genasi who alerts Imoaza to her presence by blowing softly on the Yuan Ti’s ear. Imoaza’s reaction is immediate, drawing Drosselgreymer and spinning to get ready for an attack. Star intervenes and explains the use of any breath by an initiate (who is sworn to silence for a period of time) is considered a great honor and an invitation to the Whispering Wind’s palace. “We’ll be there,” she tells the Genasi, who nods and leaves.

The Prize

It’s back to the palace of The Whispering Wind to meet with Lakosa, the leader of the Whispering Wind. Here, all of the players receive a prize that befits their story--in addition to the information that the crystal is being kept by a strange old man who lives alone on an island out in the sky, running a farm of Chi Chus (we’ll explain that in a moment). Perhaps biggest of all, Lakosa pardons Star and tells her she is welcome to call this planet her home again.

Aldric and Lakosa have taken a liking to each other and the sexually charged mercenary finally meets his match in her, the two pleasuring each other for a few hours while the Rod of Storms responds to their lovemaking by creating a sky full of sunshine, light rain, and eventually beautiful rainbows.

While all this is going on, Immerstal takes Imoaza and Carrick on a tour of the city’s finest bakeries, having learned of Imoaza’s recent discovery of sugar and total lack of knowledge of baked goods. Carrick satisfies himself with a single macaroon and tags along as Immerstal and Imoaza engage on a decadent and semi-crazed sugar fueled romp through the city, becoming food-drunk on such delicacies as only magical beings can make. The journey leaves Imoaza almost literally out of her mind as she has a transcendental experience due to the sheer amount of magic infused sugar she ingests. She amazingly manages not to throw up, though! Also, they spend 13,000 gold pieces on the trip, which makes Carrick throw up. There are some special items purchased as well, most notably Ink that can convince anyone that anything written in it is real, for a short time, and with a failed save.

As they travel, Carrick finds himself preoccupied with another thought. He is thinking on Star and the Aether Craw, Cookie, which used to belong to her lover, Fesserania. Both he and Imoaza bonded with the bird during the race, but now he feels that it is only right that Star be given a chance to claim the bird.

Still, it is Aldric who ends up talking to Star first. When the group comes back together, they all listen to Carrick’s stories about Imoaza’s and Immerstal’s sugar binge...

"It was horrible,” Carrick said. “There was this one place we went, where these little pastries had sugar spun legs and they walked around, all over Immerstal’s, uh, body, while Imoaza ate them off of him. Then they started using whipped cream... I don’t... I can’t... unsee it...”

While the group keeps listening to this, Aldric realizes Star is not with them. He walks away from the group, through a beautiful garden, and out to a ledge that stretches over the sky abyss. Here Star sits, swinging her legs over the edge, her tail wrapped up next to her. Beyond her the horizon is beautiful, filled with the light of two suns and over a dozen rainbows.

Aldric takes a seat next to her and she greets him with a sad smile.

“I wonder if Fesserenia ever got a chance to just sit and look out at a beautiful day and just appreciate it. I hope when I died, I didn’t take that from her.”

“I spent my life, my whole life,” she continues, “trying to get away from this place. I thought I had to escape to be happy. And then I spent the next century trying to come back. I realized too late it wasn’t where I was that would make me happy, but rather who I was spending my life with. Wherever she was, I could have been happy there. By the time I realized it, life was over.”

“You’re staying,” Aldric says. It isn’t quite a question, but Star nods.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day. Everyone on the ship, they are trying to go home. For me, this is home. It won’t be the same without Fesserania, but I feel like being here at least keeps me close to her memory. I’d like to work with the Aether Craw more. Not for racing this time, but just to care for them. Bond with them, not to use them, but just to have that connection.”

Star looks at Aldric. “You could stay too, you know. Lakosa would let you. You could make each other happy, for a time. You could help me with the birds, or do whatever you like.”

Aldric paused, trying not to let her see how stunned and moved he was by the offer. “I can’t,” he says at last. “I have things I still have to do. I have a task that was set on me.”

“The Green Company? Someone else could build it in your stead. Captain Krisp would take it on, and he’d probably do a good job of it.”

“No. It wouldn’t feel right to give it to someone else. My journey isn’t done yet. Maybe someday it will be, maybe someday I could be happy here, but not now.”

“You sound like I did. Just be careful that someday doesn’t come too late. Don’t make the mistake I did. Don’t spend your life thinking that happiness is just around the corner and miss it standing right in front of you.”

She smiles at him again, less sad this time. “Goodbye Aldric. For what it’s worth, I would have been happy to join the Green Company.”

The Old Man and the Sky

Presently the companions gather themselves and head off into the sky onboard Percy (they leave Cookie with Star, as a going away/homecoming present). They find the island that Lakosa told them about and land on it. It is an idyllic farm, though its main inhabitants, floating yellow puff balls with legs and beaks called “Chi Chus” are utterly foreign to them.

They come to an old, well kept farm house and knock on the door. An old man answers and, after they tell him that they are looking for a crystal, he invites them in. He strikes Aldric as seeming very familiar, but he can’t place a finger on it, not until they are all sitting at a table, the old man sipping at tea, Aldric drinking a glass of delicious Chi Chu milk, and Imoaza munching on a fresh cookie. Then it strikes him.

This man looks exactly like an aged Carrick.

“You’re him,” Aldric says. “You’re the surveyor.”

It turns out it is a little more complicated than that...

Long ago, before time began, there were two forces fighting over the fabric of reality like a wife and husband over bed sheets on a wintry night. Primus, being of pure order and balance, and the Abyss, the embodiment of everything that was disorder and chaos.

The two fought endlessly. Primus created the universe so that there would be order out of the endless chaos. The Abyss breathed life into the Universe, an immeasurable ever changing mess. Primus created time and death so that life had restraints. The Abyss split the timelines and created multiple planes and universes. Primus created Devils to walk all of the universes and gather lost souls. The Abyss created desire and many Devils came to embrace the Abyss fully and became Demons, so Primus directed the remaining Devils to fight them in an endless Blood War. Even then, Chaos was always one step ahead: it spawned the drive for power. Seeking power, some of the oldest beings became gods and soon Primus was forgotten, though his creations still wandered the planes, among them the Inevitables (like the Inevitable of Justice that eventually Abenthy finds and usurps).

But he did not stop fighting Chaos. He retreated for a time, and for a time the world was thrown into chaos, with many races and planets coming into existence and many others, now forgotten, ending forever. It was during this time that the Elemental Princes of Evil emerged, and the Mindflayers, and on Faerun, the Yuan Ti ruled as the supreme beings. But Primus was not idle. He was contemplating, meditating on the nature of the universe, and in his meditations he came to realize that hidden deep within even Chaos itself was a pattern, an order. Primus then saw that the way to defeat Chaos was not from without, but from within. So he built a new being, a being who would be called the Iskth’cya (Iskaya) but who would eventually become known to other races as the Surveyor.

The Surveyor had a singular purpose. His role (though it looked roughly manlike, it was in fact genderless) was to shape the being that would eventually contain Chaos. To do this, they had the help of a powerful energy device, filled directly with a piece of Primus’  own essence in the shape of a crystal. This crystal would be the Surveyor’s tool to shape reality, but also their own lifeline. Inevitably, the Surveyor’s timeline would run out, the crystal’s power nearly spent, and then it would be up to them to build the next Surveyor, transfer all of their knowledge and discoverings into that new shell, and then expire. In death, their essence would repower the crystal, fill it again with Primus’ directive and energy, and continue the journey of discovery.

Many centuries of experimentation would pass before the Surveyors would eventually create humans. And is that so surprising? Humans are a mess of chaos: individuals pursuing their own desires and whims, and yet always on whatever planet they appear on, humans also create society, laws, and on the largest scale, move as one being towards order. Thus did Primus envision order out of Chaos.

But even here, Chaos had some reign. For the Surveyors themselves were not perfect. Nearing completion of the task, one Surveyor determined that he should be allowed to see the end result of his work. So he cheated his mission and decided not to die, keeping the primary crystal for himself and breaking off only a piece of it, pouring some of his lifeforce into it and leaving the next surveyor with an incomplete power source. The process took its toll: the cheater aged significantly, but he stayed alive, leaving his spaceship to the next Surveyor and dropping himself off on the planet of air, where he remains today with the original crystal.

The next surveyor was not privy to the full glory of Primus’ plan, denied had he been of this connection by his proginator. He came out... strange. His pursuit of the final goal was erratic, plagued with visions and prophecies and filled with a quest not for discovery but for recognition. He found a way to mimic the energy of his own shard of crystal and put this energy into other vessels. These he placed around various planets, mostly to force life to spark into existence. But some of them had other purposes. He was constantly trying to “have children” and spawn more of himself, but the experiment never worked.

In his efforts, he captured a dark spawn of Cthulu in a Jade crystal, a crystal that would end up becoming split into many pieces over the course of history, one of them being made into a Jade Statue which would cause no end of trouble for a group of adventurers. In the course of his work he did manage to create humanity, but when he brought them them to life on Toril, he angered the Yuan Ti, who had come to revere him as a god. Now, believing he meant to supplant them as rulers of the planet, they turned on him and when he fled Toril, they used their magic to release the Dark Spawn of Cthulu, who crashed his ship back down to Toril and killed him before sinking back into hibernation to heal the damage done in the fight. The Yuan Ti fled their broken empire and the age of humans truly began. But the Surveyor was dead, the vision could not be completed, and all that remained to tell of its final form was a prophecy left behind by the Surveyor: a triad of creatures, an Angel, a Devil, and a Dragonborn, connected somehow.

So how did Carrick get wrapped up in all this? Close proximity to the first crystal has been awakening his memories and the dreams he has been having of the cave tell the true story: as a child, he fell into a cave and broke his leg. Trying to get out, he crawled through the cave and came across one of the Surveyor’s crystals, specifically one of the ones he had used to try and clone himself and had discarded when it didn’t work. For whatever reason, it works now, imprinting the Surveyor’s identity and soul on top of Carrick’s, forever changing him. 

The immediate effects are to heal his broken leg and wipe his memory of what happened. But soon he begins to physically change, his body reshaping itself to look like Primus’ vision for the Surveyor. He is young enough that his parents write off the changes as due to him growing into himself. And he is a half elf: sometimes they take on the appearances of the elvish soul within him. His mother even takes to calling him an old soul, thinking these changes represent the old elvish soul inhabiting his body. She’s almost right.

But the combination of two souls has other effects on Carrick’s life. Chances are, it led to his dark past as he sought power and killed in the name of a pure kind of justice. Psychologically, Carrick must now question everything he has felt and believed in his life. Which pieces of this were his true nature and which parts were due to the Surveyor inside of him? Now, as he becomes more aware of the truth, he can even begin to hear a second voice inside his head, urging him towards tendencies he has long thought were his own inclination.

Carrick tells the old man he will try to fulfill his purpose, he will try to finish Primus’ vision, but the old man tells him it is impossible. Carrick may hold onto a piece of the Surveyor’s soul and memory, but his body is not of Primus’ creation. His body is still half elven, half human. It is not designed to channel the energy necessary to create life. He cannot finish the vision.

At this, the companions grow angry. They now see this sad old man as not a victim, but as an instigator of horrors: a selfish being whose acts not only hurt Carrick directly, but also the death of empires and possibly the ending of all things in a victory for the forces of Chaos. Carrick feels his own pain most directly, of course, accusing the man of stealing both his future and his past. Without even a hope of fulfilling the Surveyor’s mission, what else does Carrick have?

The old man gives them the crystal and tells them that this means his time will soon come to a close. He also tries to give Carrick some kind words, though he is not a being who was made to feel empathy or sympathy.

“You must choose what to do with whatever time you have left,” the old man tells him, but it is of little consolation. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I wanted to see the end of Primus’ vision. It did not seem fair that I should work so hard towards it and have nothing to show for it, not even be able to see the work for myself.”

“You do have something to show for it,” Carrick answers. “You have me.”

But the words are not meant to be gracious or consoling. Carrick is angry, and in anger, the companions leave the farm. All except Imoaza, who decides to revenge Carrick, whom she is coming to think of as an actual friend. She summons Drosselgreymer and cuts the old man down, who dies with a smile on his lips...

... until Carrick brings him back with a spell.

“Why?” the old man begs. “Why did you not let me die?”

Imoaza is also confused and upset. “Do you wish me to kill him again? Make him suffer a dozen times? I can do that.”

“No. He doesn’t get to leave that easily. He needs to live. He wanted to see the end result of the work, now he has to. You hear me? Don’t you dare die until this is all over. You need to live and know what you have done. You don’t get to hide from it anymore.”

For the first time, the old man shows emotion, his face filling with despair as he sobs uncontrollably and is left behind by the companions. Imoaza isn’t very happy about it, this doesn’t fit her definition of revenge. So she takes a Chi Chu from his farm as a final payment for their troubles.

Meanwhile, through Carrick’s anger, he is able to realize that Imoaza cut down an unarmed man, however deserving, and the thought makes him wary and anxious, afraid that this is a hint of darker things to come.

The Rod of Storms amplifies the group’s dark mood, and they take off into a sky filling with heavy clouds and hard rain.

[raphpanda21]

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

Last Time

Taking off her sunglasses Hera glanced back at Hermes

Hera: Leave the boxes I will have them seen too later. For now let us have a look at the facilities. I think we all could use a good rest after this evening.

Striding ahead Persephone and Hermes quickly followed her . As she came to the largest of the warehouse’s doors the cyclops at post pulled it open motioning then into the dimly light space. Ahead seated on a rather large chair a cyclops waited at his post by what appeared to be a freight elevator. Seeing them approach he stoodhaving to stoop slightly to avoid hitting his head.

In a gruff gravely voice the cyclops breaks the hanging silence.

Cyclops: Zeus called. Told me you was coming. Said from now on plans had changed. That you are the new boss and what you says goes.”

Hera smiled in satisfaction hearing this .

Hera: How sweet or him. Well the person staying here will be Ms. Persephone and I assume you will be able to prevent any press harassing her while she is here ?

Cyclops: We Bellyhands have had plenty experience with that lot. They know well not to mess with our lot.

Extending his giant hand past Hera He holds it out to Persephone who shyly reached out marveling as her hand disappeared in his.

Cyclops: You are in good hands Ms Persephone.

Hermes: Big hands

As soon as he said it Hermes slapped his hand over his mouth looking sheepish as all eyes turn to him.

Cyclops: This one with you is a real funny man huh? My big hands have seen too taking care of many a funny men in the past.

Hermes eyes widen and he backs away a little.

Hera: He isn’t normally the funny sort so perhaps you can let him pass just this once.

The cyclops hmmms glaring at Hermes one last time before letting go of Persephone’s hand

Cyclops: Just this once then. You lot go on up and see to the facilities. Once you do that we can work out some of the finer details.

Persephone smiled trying not to laugh at Hermes misfortune.

Persephone: Thank you sir. What should I call you?

The cyclops turns after lifting up the wood front on the fright eleveator.

Cyclops: We don’t hold much with names us Bellyhands. Foolish novelty all that.Simple count works good enough for us. I am number 1 and I expect you will meet the other 6 in time. Now off with the lot of you there will be time for questions later.

The three of then enter the elevator. It seemed as old and run down as the rest of the place and the lurch as it kicked into gear was quite startling .

They rode in silence as the elevator made its slow climb up finally coming to a jarring stop. The doors opened up revealing a nearly blinding stark whiteness. Hermes lifted the wooden drop gate holding it up long enough to allow the ladies to step out before stepping out himself.

The sound of their footfalls echoed in the stark white hallway as they make their way into the loft quickly coming upon an open floor plan floating stairs leading upstairs to presumably more rooms. The downstairs room was dominated by the near two story windows that encompassed the entirety of the exterior wall giving an impressive view of the city skyline.

Persephone walked away from the group walking right up to the glass laying her hands upon it as she looked out.

Persephone: This is far to much Hera. I can’t stay here.

Hera: Nonsense, this is nothing at all and I won’t hear another word of protest.

Persephone smiled nodding her head in acceptance as Hermes came to stand beside her tapping the glass with curiosity.

Hermes: For such a high security place these windows seem to defeat the purpose.

Hera snorts softly walking up to tap the glass with her finely manicured nails

Hera: It is one way glass darling. You can see out but nobody can see in.

Persephone had turned away from the window turning to take in the rest of the space. Nice open kitchen at the back looking out on the living room. The living room was massive an electric fire place on one wall and the majority of the rooms space dominated by the sunken conversation pit sitting arrangement in the middle of the room. The pit was a large square shaped space the edges covered in black couch cushions and the middle filled up with pillows and furs making it look every bit a pit of reclining decadence . Finally her vision fell on a strange leather swing placed near the window.

Persephone:How delightfully peculiar. a swing inside the house. What a fun idea. Perhaps I should give it a try!

Hearing her mention swing both Hera and Hermes look to see what she was talking about and identical looks of horror come to their face as they both shout in unison.

Hera & Hermes: Don’t touch that!

Startled Persephone stopped herself from stepping closer to the swing tilting her head at the two of them in confusion.

Hermes: That is a special swing ummm custom only for a certain user. It could hurt you and Hera will just get arrange for it to be removed right ?

Hera nodded her head in agreement putting on a forced smile.

Hera: Of course! Removed for sure and I think I will actually go down and speak to Mister 1 about having a white glove treatment done to this place. Don’t touch anything in here until then. Alright dear ?

Persephone nods glancing back at the swing with curiosity it didn’t look dangerous but she took their advice.

Hera: Hermes go and get Persephone settled in a guest room while I make some arrangements. She needs to get some rest after her harrowing evening .

Hermes : Sure thing. You heard her. Let’s go upstairs and see what options there are.

Following Hermes they make short work of exploring the upstairs. There were two spare bedrooms and one bath in addition to the master suite. Upstairs in contrast to downstairs was decorated in blacks with contrasts of white and silver giving the whole floor a night inspired vibe.

Hermes: Well master bedroom is out until the cleaners come and give it some care. Let’s get you settled in one of the guest rooms and I will go see if Hera needs help before I head out.

Persephone: Alright, I won’t deny sleep sounds very good right now.

Hermes chuckled holding open one of the guest room doors for her. Inside a queen sized bed covered in a downy white comforter and silver white pillows called invitingly to Persephone’s tired body. The floor to ceiling windows continued in this room the faint sign of approaching sunrise visible through the heavy white and silver swirled drapes.

Hermes: I will leave you too it. Try not to worry. Hera I am sure has a plan for all of this. We will see it sorted somehow.

Persephone smiled stepping up to him and wrapping her arms about his waist giving him a hug. Hermes dropped his arms quickly wrapping them around her back and returning the affection in kind.

Persephone: Thank you for everything Hermes. I always seem to be so lucky that in the worst of times a knight comes to my rescue. Sorry you had to dress in drag to save me this time.

Hermes rested his cheek on the top of her head chuckling into her hair

Hermes: What is a little gender bending between friends? I would do it everyday if it helped you somehow.

Persephone gave him a tight squeeze in thanks not seeing the look of deep affection that followed his vow of devotion.

Persephone: Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. Good night or I guess morning Hermes

Pulling away from him she proceeded into the room toeing of her shoes before climbing into bed. Seeing only her eyes peering out Hermes pulled the door closed and headed back downstairs to find. Hera.

A few hours later saw Hades slamming his car door as he approached the usual brunch location. He was early but he needed a drink or two in his system before having to face his brothers. Walking in the hostesses started to say something snide but seeing the dark look to Hades features she wisely decides against it instead motioning for a waitresses to see to him.

Settling at a table as far away from the stage and any aquarium he made short work of two scotches on the rocks before starting on a large black coffee. After having two healthy sips from his cup the usual clamor that announced his brothers’ arrival anywhere was heard. Glancing up he sighed already exhausted as he watched them coming his way . This meeting would be anything but a picnic. Standing to greet them seemed was a mistake as Poseidon nearly tackled him with his sudden hug

Poseidon: Hades, my poor brother! Why must they torment you so! I tried to summon a tsunami for you but Zeus shut me down.

Zeus snorted as he pulled out a chair getting settled.

Zeus: That press office isn’t anywhere near the ocean thusly you would have negatively impacted a lot of innocent parties.

Poseidon pouts pulling away and going to his own chair mumbling under his breathe something that sounds like it’s just a little water.

Hades brushed himself off before settling back into his chair quickly becoming very uncomfortable with his brothers silent stares.

Hades: What!?

Zeus: So is there any truth to the rumors?

Poseidon squirms in his chair with barely constrained excitement.

Poseidon: Are you going to be a daddy?!

Hades: No, there is no more truth to this story than there was to then last one.

Zeus and Poseidon look at one another before looking back at him with skepticism.

Poseidon: Bro, you know we won’t judge if you were banging her. She is one fine little cream puff that I would gladly make one of my consorts.

Hades eyes snap to blood red at Poseidon words his voice coming out in a threatening growl

Hades: If you even so much as proposition her I will remove your hook and tackle personally.

Poseidon and Zeus look at him with visible shock as a waitress quickly deposits their ordered drinks and scurries away. Calming down Hades looks on confused as Poseidon pulls out a large wad of cash and hands it to a satisfied looking Zeus.

Poseidon: Don’t gloat Zeus. It was a fair bet that I would win. He got back with ol Spicy Cinna Minthe again on Fatesbook after all.

Zeus: When it comes to knowing a men’s desires I rarely miss the mark brother.

Hades anger flares at both of his brothers a soft growl building up

Hades: You are betting on me?! Is my life that much of a joke to you.

Zeus sighed reaching out to grasp Hades shoulder giving it a strong squeeze a glare of his own backing up his assertive tone.

Zeus: Calm yourself brother. A little levity even at the worst of times isn’t bad. We are your brothers and you should know that we will always back you up.

Hades tense shoulders sagged under Zeus hand a defeated sigh slipping out as he hung his head in defeat.

Hades: I am sorry, I feel like I am having to say that a lot recently.

Poseidon: You are good bro. I honestly feel for you, I mean I would be wrecked if the girl I was hankering was stepping out with some other fella.

Zeus: Mmm, the other element of the story is interesting for sure. Do you think Thanatos has made moves on her?

Hades: I wouldn’t know but there will be a lengthy conversation Monday with him I assure you. He is as old as me if not older.

Poseidon: Age is just a state of mind bro and a chick with her curves could raise the dead.

Hades glares at him and Zeus elbows him

Poseidon: What!? It is true. I get you have this kink thing going with that nymph but you deserve better.

A look of sadness comes over Hades features his eyes getting lost in the dark depths of his coffee mug.

Hades: Better isn’t a option for me... I don’t deserve it.

Poseidon frowns reaching out to lay his hand over one of Hades

Poseidon: You are too hard on yourself. Where is your confidence?

Leaning closer he glanced around for any possible ease-droppers

Poseidon: Is your worm tiny bro or not rising to the occasion? I can help you. I got some essence of clam that will fix you right up.

Zeus and Hades both look at Poseidon neither saying anything.

Poseidon: What?

Zeus rolls his eyes

Zeus: Nothing Poseidon nothing. Getting back to a serious topic. Hera has gotten involved and is seeing that Persephone is shielded as much as possible during this time.

Hades: Is she okay?! Where is she ?!

Poseidon smiles over the top his glass having pulled back his hand at Hades panicked rambling

Zeus: I don’t know. Hera has been gone since last night. As for the where , I do know that and I can tell you that she will be safer there than anywhere else.

Hades: You can’t tell me or you won’t ?

Poseidon chuckles spinning the colorful umbrella in his drink

Poseidon: Even I know the answer is won’t Hades. You , her, and probably Thanatos are going be hounded by the paparazzi. Hell for all we know they are here watching us now.

Poseidon eyes widen as he breed his own paranoia and he slowly began to slide under the table.

Zeus: Poseidon, what are you doing?

Poseidon: Shhh! Don’t use my name they might be listening. Amphitrite will kill me if she hears about me being here. I told her we were meeting up with you at the Falafel House.

Zeus and Hades both sigh knowing there is no arguing with Poseidon when he got like this. Better to let him do as he wished.

Zeus: Be patient Hades. If she shows up to work you can talk to her then.

Hades: If being the key word.

Zeus downs his beverage before eying him coldly

Zeus: As Poseidon said earlier you chose to get back wit the nymph so seeking Persephone out outside of work will stir up both Minthe’s ire and the presses interest. Better to keep your distance than to feed the horde.

Hades steepled his fingers beneath his chin eyes again as red as freshly spilled blood.

Hades: Let then come for me. It isn’t the first time I have handled the press and I am owed far much more than a pound of flesh for their current slight.

From under the table the sound of Poseidon’s voice can be heard

Poseidon: I can’t see Hades right now but from down here he sounds badass. Can we order brunch now? I think my stomach is starting to eat my spleen down here.

Zeus motions for a waitress locking eyes with Hades as he gets in the last word before her arrival.

Zeus: You are a badass for sure but you really can be a dumbass too. You need to figure out what you really want before you do anything dramatic.

Hades started to say something back in defense but Zeus’s glare as the waitress arrived made him clam up. Orders were taken swiftly and the rest of the brunch continued on with idle chatter. Zeus made it clear that they were done discussing the matter. Hades was on his own to clean up the mess but he knew that his brothers would help him if things became dire. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that as he had experienced far too much pity in his life and found the taste of it off putting.

[poiregourmande]

Ship: Steven/Shane, prompt: sweetness :)

disclaimer: i was sure steven was the one feeding shane in the worth it holiday special, turns out it was andrew but this whole thing was already written so please ignore reality for the next five minutes

It‘s a slice of meat, but it feels like dessert, the way Steven presents it to Shane. Like the most decadent chocolate mousse, like something luxurious prepared just for him.

Steven feeds it to him and lingers – a look of hunger in his eyes reflecting the one in Shane’s. There’s a sweetness in it – one that’s present in everything Steven does, and it completely disarms Shane to be on the receiving end of it. He feels a flush creeping across his cheeks and hopes he can blame it on Kwesi’s ponche.

With every dish that comes out, Shane feels Steven’s gaze on him, like nothing around the table matters to him more than Shane’s reaction.

“You like it?” Steven asks, and it seems like he’s asking everyone, but his eyes are fixed on Shane only, gaze heavy and inviting.

Shane, who finds himself currently unable to answer, throat dry despite the wine, and can only nod timidly. His reaction could get lost in the many appreciative voices around the table, but Steven sits back in his chair, satisfied and still looking at him.

Shane stays in a daze for the rest of the meal, acutely aware of Steven’s gaze on him. He can barely join the conversations around him, and is grateful that bantering with Ryan comes so easy to him – he doesn’t need much brainpower to do it and it’s gonna be great on camera.

Bless Rie and her roulette russe croquembouche: the wasabi jumpstarts his synapses out of their trance, allowing him to finally think of something other than Steven. He laughs with the others at Ryan’s reaction – it seems to be affecting him way more – and when he meets Steven’s gaze again, his heart only slightly tries to somersault out of his chest.

Someone gets up to start cleaning and they turn the cameras off. Shane figures it’s a good time to excuse himself to the bathroom and deal with things – his battered tastebuds or his bewildered heart, he’s not sure yet.

He’s halfway through closing the bathroom door behind him when Steven slides in, nimble as a cat. He offers a cream puff wrapped in a napkin and a smile that makes Shane’s heart go wheeeee!!!

“Something sweet, for the burn,” Steven explains. “Guaranteed wasabi-free,” he adds with an apologetic grin.

Shane chuckles and pops the whole thing in his mouth. The sweet cream filling helps quell the fire in his mouth, but not the one in his heart. Steven is still staring at him, and honestly, at this point, Shane’s all blushed out. After the spice and all the self consciousness, there’s no way any more blood could make its way to his face – so it flows downwards instead.

He swallows and licks the cream off his lips, hoping his sweater’s long enough to cover strategic stuff. (It isn’t.)

“You still got a little –“ Steven points at his lips – “here, let me…”

Steven tiptoes all the way up to Shane’s face. So gently that Shane half wonders if it really happened, Steven licks a stray bit of cream off his bottom lip.

Steven is the blushy one now, and that’s probably the sweetest thing Shane’s ever seen. This newfound bashfulness does more to embolden Shane than the wasabi ever did, and he backs Steven against the sink. Steven inhales sharply when his backside hits the counter, tilts his head up to look at Shane, eyes wide with anticipation.

“I think you missed a spot…” Shane licks lightly at the corner of Steven’s mouth before pulling away.

Steven gasps and pulls him back by his belt loops. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, I thought we were just teasing.”

“Pffff.”

“You’re pretty cute when you pout.”

“I’m always cute.”

“That you are.” This time, Shane kisses him for real, and the heat in his mouth has nothing to do with novelty desserts and everything to do with the tongue of a gorgeous boy.

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[fibula-rasa]

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1960s

Marianne Danielle in The Brides of Dracula (1960)

The Movie

Sometime in the late 19th century, somewhere east of France, those damned dapper, aristocratic vampires are at it again. Two years after Horror of Dracula (1958) was a smash hit for Hammer Film Productions, The Brides of Dracula (1960) was produced. Dracula didn’t rise from the grave for this one, but Van Helsing continues on his quest to wipe out his blood-sucking kin.

The film begins when Marianne Danielle (Yvonne Monlaur), a deportment teacher from Paris, encounters coach trouble en route to a new job. Stranded at the village inn, Marianne meets the Baroness Meinster who invites her to stay the night at her chateau. Marianne soon discovers that the Baroness has been keeping a secret; the Baroness’ “ill” son is locked up in his own wing of the chateau. Misunderstanding the nature of the Baron’s affliction Marianne executes a plan to set him free. The Baron then murders his own mother before escaping into the night. Marianne, distraught at being left behind, flees through the woods where she is found in passed out in shock and exhaustion by Dr. Van Helsing, who is investigating rumors around the Meinster family. A rash of strange murders break out in the village and Van Helsing closes in on the Baron. Unbeknownst to Van Helsing, Marianne has agreed to marry the Baron, still not aware that he is a vampire.

When Hammer began producing their own set of adaptations of the classic movie monsters, they established a colorful gothic universe that stretched well beyond the initial characters, scenarios, and stories. Brides sets the tone for all of the Hammer vampire films that followed. They’re stylish period pieces, though which period can be a little muddy giving the films an added fantastical quality. They have a pronounced gothic flair.

While no Hammer film is absent of camp, their first decade of horror was a bit more reserved in style and content. Hammer bucked censors from the start with The Quatermass Xperiment (1955) when they not only didn’t fret an X rating, but changed the title of the film to publicize that X. It wouldn’t be until the end of the 1960s that Hammer would push for the pulpy provocative content, nudity, and lesbianism closely associated with the later Hammer vampire films, but the seeds for that progression (or regression depending on how you look at it) are already visible in Brides.

The Look

A hallmark of Hammer horror is glossy glam taking precedent over historical accuracy in costuming and makeup design. Marianne is no exception.

The Clothes

The film is roughly set at the end of the 19th century and Marianne’s costuming doesn’t reflect that exactly but it’s quite consistent throughout the film.

Marianne is always in long dresses, with long tapered sleeves and puffy shoulders. Most of her collars make a high v. Marianne is often costumed in deep colors (warm grey with red detailing, forest green, crimson, etc.) and velvety fabrics.

This contrasts her from the Meinsters, who are typically costumed in cool grayish and purple shades and often in fussier fabrics like silk and embellished lace.

(In addition, when people encounter the Baron for the first time either to get vamped or put in his thrall, they’re usually wearing a cool purple shade.)

She also has the best winter coat I’ve ever seen in my life and if anyone knows where I can get this exact coat HMU.

For the daytime look, I wanted to translate the Marianne costuming philosophy into something more contemporary. I didn’t succeed very well with colors, but hey. I chose a knit button-up top with lace detailing and a little puff at the sleeves and a velvet mini skirt. To add some deep colors to the look, I wore purple tights (though the camera didn’t pick up the hue well).

For the full cosplay, I stuck with a velvet skirt (ideally it’d be ankle-length, but I don’t have many ankle-length skirts). This time I paired it with a cream-colored high-necked blouse under a black fitted blazer that I tucked into the skirt, trying to mimic the style of dress Marianne wears in the film. On top of that, I added a plaid capelet with brown and white detailing and white scarf.

Recreating Marianne’s look simply from my own closet was easier said than done. If you’d like to be a generic woman from Hammer horror, era-appropriate dresses are usually easy to find in vintage stores and could be paired with the makeup below. Case in point, me on Halloween 3 years ago:

The Makeup

Marianne’s makeup is definitely a look that could pass for modern, so I’ll only do a single face for both levels of cosplay. It’s a high-contrast look but with warm, romantic colors. A great look for autumn to be honest.

Start with an even base with a natural or semi-matte finish. Cover your lids with a neutral shade either in your skin tone or one shade lighter.

Take a neutral or warm purple shade into the crease and outer edge of your lid and blend up. Follow that up with a lighter shade on the lid and just below the brow to create contrast; I chose a pale yellow.

The liner is pretty intense so if you need extra guidance on wings, I talked covered my method in the 1950s. (1.) Start with a thin line of eyeliner right at the lashline. (2.) With your eyes open, looking straight into the mirror, draw out an upward swinging triangle on the outside of your eye and fill it in. (3.) Take a thin angled brush with black or dark brown shadow, smooth the liner and connect the wing with your lower lashline with what is left on the brush. (4.) Finish the eyes up with a few coats of black mascara and, if you like, go into the upper waterline with black liner.

Contouring wasn’t big in 1960, but sculpting with blush certainly was. Take a warm blush and go over the tops of your cheekbones and below them all the way to your ear.

Marianne’s eyebrows are strong but relatively straight. I took a warm brown pencil to draw out the whole shape then softened it with light brown powder and a clean spoolie.

Go back into your eyeliner and, with a small pointed brush place a beauty mark on top of your left cheekbone but below your eye.

Marianne’s lips are full and overlined a little to soften the lipline. Go in with a coral pink liner and round out the shape of your upper lip, particularly making sure the cupid’s bow is obscured. On the bottom lip, draw inward a little at the edges to focus the fullness on the middle of your lip. Then fill in your lips with a glossy coral pink lipstick or lipgloss if you feel that it’s too much with the eyes and cheeks.

If you wanted to glam it up further, long wispy false lashes would be perfect.

If you have the hair to properly recreate Marianne’s style, this Loepsie tutorial will serve you well.

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