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candychronicles · 4 years ago

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boo // d. kaminari

A/N: this is my take on the horror, haunts and halloween bnharem server collab!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Denki Kaminari x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,315

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, car fucking, some extremely mild spooks

SYNOPSIS: who knew a little bet between friends could turn into so much more?

Want to see what other spooky, scary stories await? Click here to find out !

“boo!”

“damnit Kaminari, you scared the hell out of me!” you screeched, whipping around to smack your friend on the shoulder. “besides, you should save all of the screams for the house tonight!”

he shrugged his body, clearly not bothered by your comment before proceeding to the men’s dressing area, makeup already adorned on his body. he was performing tonight as a sort of scary chainsaw man with bloodshot eyes and a dark streaked face. despite the outwardly appearance of his costume, he was, at least to you, a funny and extremely attractive guy. you two had spent your whole fall flirting and teasing in between hallways and sets, having fun and making people scared at the same time.

you never meant to work at a haunted house, but you needed the money, and it seemed much more exciting to get paid scaring people and dressing up in cool costumes over working a seasonal retail job. due to your ability to at least fake a scary and eccentric personality, they hired you immediately, along with a few other people your age. you figured it would be a good way to meet new people and have fun but you were certainly not expecting to fall in love with the dorky yet extremely talented kid with the cool hair and outlandish jokes.

your time in the dressing and makeup room didn’t take too long, adorning a creepy maid outfit with sunken black eyes and a wicked bloody smile. twirling the braids adorning your head, you skipped out of the room, ready to get into character and have another night of spooks.

“hey, let’s make a bet tonight, hm? make it a little more interesting?” Kaminari offered, sliding in beside you like he had been there all along.

“sure, what do you propose?”

“let’s see who can get the loudest scream of the night. we’ll both be generally near each other, so no cheating or lying because i’ll be able to tell!”

“how are we going to measure that? what if it’s really close, what are you going to do about that?”

“rock, paper, scissors?” he countered, flashing his hands and gesturing the game with a devious smile.

“sure, why not. what do i get if i win?”

“anything you want, sugar.”

you attempted to ignore the comment, though your cheeks heated up and your eyes grew just a bit wider.

“how about you owe me dinner tonight?” you joked, flashing your own toothy grin.

“that all, dollface? i’d do that any day.”

“oh boo, that’s boring. make him wear your maid costume or something!” Kirishima shouted from across the hall, seemingly butting into your increasingly heated conversation.

“now that’s an idea,” you teased, laughing along with Kirishima as Kaminari’s face turned bright red.

“that’s nothing! i’d do that any day,” he claimed, quickly moving on, “but i say if i win then you owe me dinner. easy enough?”

you nodded your head in agreement, shaking on it and pressing your pinkies together for extra emphasis before heading towards your separate destinations, ready for the challenge.

the night started off easy, you both earning screams of varying levels, but every time you got one, he shot right back with yet another. your jaw clenched and eyes grew dark, not backing down from the fight.

the whole evening and late through midnight did you two fight back and forth, tooth and nail, bringing out your nastiest and scariest tricks, doing everything you could to jumpscare and creep out the people of the attraction, but it seemed that neither of you were a clear winner. you, however, were not going to let him get the satisfaction of saying he won.

the final group of the night came through and you managed a loud, shrieking scream from the guy in the front, a wicked smile on your face as you waved at Kaminari down the hall. he retaliated with his own scare but, at least you thought, it didn’t quite live up to your own haunt.

“i totally won, i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” he shrieked, shoving fries in his face with a huff, waving his arms around in a display of anger.

“my scream was louder and you know it. just admit it, i was better than you tonight!” you argued back, leaning forward to look him directly in the eye, challenging him to keep up the fight.

he looked away, cheeks tinged pink at your sudden closeness, before crossing his arms and looking back at you.

“fine, i’ll pay for the food, but i still don’t think you won. i can make anyone scream louder than you.”

“oh yeah? why don’t you prove it?” you challenged, eyes unwavering and boring straight into the side of his face.

he took a moment to ponder, unsure of what you meant, before he looked back, pupils blown wide in shock.

“waiter, i need the check please.”

it took all of thirty seconds after leaving the dingy late night restaurant before his mouth was on yours, hot and unwavering, hands tangled deep into the back of your hair, digits pressing roughly into your scalp.

“where to?” he asked in between kisses, walking backwards as you trailed after him, hands grasping his shirt like it was your only lifeline.

“whatever’s closest,” you whispered back, feeling him hit the car with the back of his body.

he quickly whipped around, fishing frantically for the keys in his pocket before shoving the shiny object into the lock and twisting, whipping the door open and gesturing you sweetly into the car.

before you had barely sat down, he slammed the door, rushing to the other side and opening his own door, sinking in and turning the vehicle on, haphazardly buckling his seatbelt as he peeled out of the parking lot towards his apartment.

the bad part about working at a haunted house was that it was in the almost middle of nowhere. there was a small town with a couple restaurants and stores, but most workers came from the college town over, meaning you two had a small drive before you made it back to either of your apartments.

Kaminari gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning white from the pressure of trying to drive safely while getting there as fast as he could. his teeth ground into each other, face set in a harsh frown, stress permanent on his face.

“relax, we’ll get there eventually. you’ll kill the mood with your sour face,” you teased, reaching sideways to place your hand on his thigh. his body jumped at your touch, briefly turning to face you before veering off onto the side of the road, seemingly finding some close down parking lot with a few trees surrounding the area.

“i’m sorry, you’re just driving me crazy. you don’t know how badly i’ve wanted you, since the day i first met you. you were so cocky and confident in your interview, ready to have fun and be crazy in your acting, but the moment you stepped away, you became so sweet and kid, always greeting everyone with a smile and a wave. i couldn’t get enough of your duality, enamored in the way you could switch that smirk on like it was nothing. seeing you in that dainty little maid outfit you’re wearing doesn’t help all that much,” he confessed, wringing his hands together as he attempted to calm himself down. “truth be told, i don’t want to be that shitty guy who you think is only using you for sex, but after that little stunt you pulled in the restaurant, i don’t think i can wait any longer to fuck you.”

you blinked once, twice, three times, trying to process what he was saying before unbuckling your seatbelt and veering towards his body, chests pressed together as you managed to climb into his lap, attacking his lips with your own, relishing in the way he practically melted under your touch, eager to feel you on him once again.

“backseat. now.”

you climbed back without hesitation, flashing him a bit of your ass as you wiggled your way onto the seat, patiently waiting for him to come back. he followed without waiting, immediately pulling your legs onto the seat and hovering over you, hands on either side of your head.

“are you sure you want to do this?” he confirmed, brushing away a couple pieces of hair that was scattered across your face.

“yes, i’m sure. please fuck me.”

he wasted no time before attaching himself to you once again, lips finding purchase on your own, against your neck, your collarbone, unbuttoning the front of your costume to nip at your breasts, leaving marks that would surely last for days. despite the cramped position you two were in, you still felt slick pool in your panties, thighs rubbing against the side of his body as you attempted to create some friction to relieve the tension building up.

you whined, begging for more, but before you could speak up to ask him for something, anything, he had already obliged, reaching down to rub the pad of his thumb against your clothed nub. you moaned in response, the need for him only growing by the minute.

“please, Kaminari-”

“Denki, call me Denki,” he corrected, nipping at your throat as his fingers moved under the skirt and around your panties, “and don’t worry baby, i’ll take care of you tonight.”

with that final statement, he pulled your panties aside completely and pushed one finger slowly into your waiting body, shivering at the feeling of your wet insides sucking him in, greedily begging for more. your breaths became uneven and labored, but you remained patient, enjoying every feeling he pulled from your wanting cunt.

he continued his assault on your neck and chest as his fingers pumped in and out of you, adding one, two more fingers, stretching you out until you were sopping and begging for his cock. he paused for one moment, hastily pulling his pants down as best as he could. before he could get to his boxers, however, you reached past his hand, pulling them down and stroking his dick, admiring the way it twitched in your hands, swollen and leaky, wanting to be inside of you just as much as you need him.

you pulled him back down by his shirt collar, kissing him fiercely as he adjusted his body once more, you aligning him to your entrance, legs hiked up around his body as he caged you in. he sunk in slowly, not holding back his moans as he appreciated the way your body sucked him in, like he was meant to be there all along.

you moaned with him, a string of curses and praises flowing out of your mouth like a siren’s song, luring him into your lair one word at a time.

“Denki, fuck, you feel so good. please don’t stop.”

he bottomed out in your, laughing when you shifted your hips, whining as you tried to get him to move. he pressed a chaste kiss to your head before rolling his own hips back, shivering at the feeling of you wrapped around him. he continued his pace slowly, rocking in and out of you, watching the car steam up from your breathy moans and sweat covered skin, feeling the car move in tandem with your bodies.

you arched your back and wrapped yourself around him as best as you could, dazzled by the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of you. he was so close, his breath against your ear, and you relished in the way he moaned and sighed, feeling just as good as you were in that moment.

he felt himself getting close much quicker than he wanted, but in that moment, he didn’t care, too enveloped in the way you squeezed around him, nails biting into his back and eyes screwed shut. he moved one hand back down in between your bodies and found your sensitive bundle of nerves, pressing down and swirling around, moaning as he felt you compressed around his cock, the new sensation overwhelming for you.

“fuck, baby, i’m so close,” he moaned, settling his head into your neck, biting down softly into your shoulder.

you only nodded back in response, too worried about chasing your own high that was emerging quickly with the combined pleasure of his cock and his fingers.

you arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as white hot lava shot through your lower stomach, cumming intensely on his cock. the feeling of your velvety walls pulsating around his own quickly brought him to his own high as he slowed his pace down, shooting his load into you.

you both laid there, breathless and sweaty, before you looked at him and erupted in giggles, wiping some of the sticky hair off his face.

“i really liked that,” you confessed, biting your lip and smiling shyly despite the position you two were still currently in.

“me too,” he agreed, kissing your forehead before slowly pulling out, sitting up and reaching forward into his console to grab a stack of napkins, cleaning you and himself up as best as he could.

you sat up after him, dizzy from pure elation, before a smirk came across your face.

“so you’re saying i won the bet, right?”

“i feel like i won the lottery tonight so yes, i’ll say you won the bet.”

“good,” you affirmed, reaching forward to grab his face in your hands, squeezing slightly before bringing him closer to you, “remember what Kiri said? i think i’m going to take his words to heart.”

he looked at you confused, shrugging, but as you stared at him, his eyes grew wide once more as he realized what you meant.

“you get to wear the maid costume next.”

Taglist: @redbeanteax @softforshigi @katsuki-bakugous-lady @secondhand-trash @freiyalight @crystal-lilac @khemz1312 @runrabbitrun3

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#kaminari x reader #Kaminari Denki #denki kaminari #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero x reader #tw: unprotected sex #tw: car sex

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shimmershae · 3 years ago

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My thoughts on Episode 5--Out of the Ashes.

Okay, though. I’m already excited about this one because Carol and Lydia are on the little guide picture thingy, lol. My girls.

As usual, I’m going to put the rest underneath a cut to save you lovelies potentially being spoiled should you not want to be.

Wow. Look at that full moon. And the colors in the woods.

I’m telling you. These cold opening scenes have been generally pretty awesome this season.

Aaron with Gracie always gives us such sweetness but this time maybe not.

Omigosh. Now *that* is a nightmare--the Walkers, the Wolves, the Saviors, the Whisperers, Mays. Did I miss anybody? And then Gracie gone just like that? Poor Aaron. All he wants is to keep his little girl safe and happy.

So. Is Gracie sleeping right next to her daddy because she had a nightmare or because her daddy’s been having them? Because either way, oh my freaking heart. Especially at her still sleeping with her stuffed bunny. I’m really, really hoping that bunny isn’t a bad omen of sorts for our Gracie, because little girls with bunnies haven’t fared all that well--going all the way back to the first episode and as recently as the subway episode where Daryl found that picture of the two siblings after they’d already found the bunny from the picture amongst the bodies. Please not Gracie. Aaron has already been through so much.

Are they all just communing together now? Because I can see how that would harken back to Season 4.

Jerry! Not even 3 minutes in and already two of my faves are present. I can tell this is going to be a good episode.

That really sucks. Not even being able to take a peaceful piss because you can see Walkers shambling past your window, lol.

There goes my queen running straight at danger as real queens are apt to do. ;)

Were there always lights coming on in the windmill during the opening credits or is that a new thing for this episode?

That orientation video was so surreal. Had to laugh at the political touch of having “this message is approved by Pamela Milton” at the end.

Okay. So they’re getting their work assignments, huh? Orientations are the worst, lol. All that damn paperwork.

Retail clerk--Princess being excited at the prospect of working in a mall, even having a mall again, has me LMAO even as I’m like girl. No. You’ll love it ‘til you hate it.

I didn’t catch Eugene’s job. But Ezekiel doing animal control kind of cracks me up. For reasons.

So. Essentially Eugene and Princess and Ezekiel got blue collar jobs while Yumiko’s got an invitation to join the upper crust.

I love Lydia being accepted as part of the community. About damn time.

For a second I thought Rosita said what’s left of the horses plural and I was fixin’ to go OH NO.

This is where I’m at on the Maggie/Negan issue, for better or worse: Maggie absolutely, IMHO, has earned the right to stay mad at Negan for the rest of her days. Because Glenn. Because her little boy was robbed of his daddy. That said? I don’t think I have it in me to watch 5 more episodes of this beaten horse antagonistic conversation much less a whole season. It would be one thing if it hadn’t already stolen valuable and earned screen time from other characters that seem to have been pushed to the periphery to spotlight it like it was the marquee event or something. I don’t want want 2/3′s of the final season so heavily focused on the conflict between these two when there are so many characters that are already woefully underutilized. It’s only compelling if it doesn’t become commonplace.

It’s a sad business having to put down people you know, I’d expect. Funny, though. We never knew them so the impact is kind of artificial. I appreciate the intent of the scene, though.

Where the hell are all the Walkers coming from? Like, I thought most of them went skydiving off that cliff without parachutes.

Judith training the other babies. If only her parents--every damn one of them--could see her now.

Gus! How cool and awesome for him!

ASZ is just full of asshole teens isn’t it? How dare that little dipshit push our Asskicker down like that and say such hateful things? To be fair, though, the kid is probably just repeating what he’s heard from others and I’m glad they’re being realistic here even if I don’t like seeing Judith cry.

Cailey Fleming’s expressive face and eyes! This kid has my heart, ya’ll.

That perfectly pretty cake wasted! LMAO. Seriously though. How does a cardiothoracic surgeon end up assigned to work in the bakery? Yumiko’s reunion with her brother Tomi honestly was on par with what I’d expect from someone seeing the sister they’d long given up as dead.

Freaky still how the Whisperers choose to herd the dead even without Beta and Alpha.

Was that the real Stephanie in the scene with the ice cream? Right under Eugene’s nose while he’s with Fake Stephanie? They have a connection, ya’ll. Eugene felt it.

Okay, though. I wanted the kids having their first ice cream cones. If I were Eugene, though, I probably would have inhaled that thing after being deprived for so long.

The Milton Hotel? Alrighty then. Somebody feels self-important.

Aww. Eugene’s thinking of Rosita and Coco. They really have evolved into such a sweet, good friendship and I miss them together.

Literally, I love Princess more each time I see her and hear her open her hilarious mouth. LOL at her with the ice cream cone.

Is everybody in ASZ staying in the same damn house? Whoever broke the board with Carl’s and Judith’s handprints on it needs an ass kicking.

“Me, too.” Welp. Guess RJ’s already met his line quota per appearance 24 minutes in, LOL.

Aww. My heart. A Rosita/Judith scene. I’m already loving it but not gonna lie. Who do we have topay to get a Carol/Judith scene because she’s been there since Judith was an embryo?

“Now it’s broken. He’s gone. Everybody is.” The way this scene is unexpectedly gutting me right now. Because Rosita’s right. It never really gets easier. It’s just something you figure out how to carry. How many people devastated by Covid or other illness or tragedy are carrying these same feelings of loss and hurt everyday?

Give us more of those heartfelt moments, dammit. This girl at least craves them. Not the endless Maggie/Negan conflict.

Ouch. “I think I haven’t met a Whisperer who wasn’t a liar.” Damn Aaron. Lydia’s right there beside you.

Angry Jerry hurts my heart in ways I cannot explain.

On a completely shallow note, Miko’s brother is attractive too. I quite like his accent, lol. I wonder why he’s so hesitant to put his skills as a surgeon to use.

“Want some cake?”/”Hell, yes.” Yumiko=me 99% of the time. LOL. Just kidding. In reality, I have to say no.

“They clearly got a gym in this joint. Your chiseling is perfecto.” LMAO. I’m all for Princess/Mercer. She flusters him a little and I’m loving it. When she told him he had beautiful eyelashes, I howled.

Oh my sweet Aaron. I’m in the same kind of pain and disbelief as Lydia watching you interrogate that Whisperer.

Thank you, Carol. Melissa McBride? I effing LOVE you. My heart hurts.

I’m sure she’s gonna get hate from the usual crowd while they cheer Aaron further along his dark and desperate path. Yes. Ya’ll are *that* predictable.

But Maggie, though? How long you gonna wait? Because you gonna be waiting on Daryl’s ass a long time.

“Cheesy video guy.” LOL. Leave it to Princess. Somehow that Lance dude looks even cheesier in RL.

By the screaming cave? What the hell is the screaming cave?

Ohh. Next episode actually looks interesting. Thank goodness it’s not a bottle episode strictly focusing on Virgil/Connie though because no matter how much I like Connie/Lauren? I don’t think whatever story she’s stuck in with Virgil is enough to keep me riveted to the tv.

Overall impression of this episode--again, I enjoyed it. Aaron’s dream was dark AF. Hell. Aaron was dark AF in this episode. Ross Marquand did some really strong work and I’m glad he finally got a moment to shine even though I hate seeing him leaning into the darkness instead of his inherent goodness. Judith and Rosita’s scenes were touching. Carol/Melissa made me bawl in the span of two minutes. That’s why she’s the MVP of this show, lovelies. She does so very much with so little. I’m just glad we didn’t have to see Leah and her band of bitchass brothers this episode.

I’m going to miss this show when it’s gone. At least I’ll have the Carol and Daryl spinoff off to ease my heartache.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons

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buffaluff · 3 years ago

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huh, guess i’m back now! it’s been. an eventful two+ months here, sorry for disappearing 😩

what you’ve missed on Buff TV is below the cut:

(this is where i warn you the following includes major medical content warning, cancer cw, death mention, etc)

okay so. you all know my little sister, you know the one:

as some of you may or may not know, she was diagnosed with cancer in the beginning of this year. she went through every chemo infusion, surgery, and radiation treatment like a total champ and was declared clear and good to go at the end of september. her oncologist prescribed a medication that would potentially keep her cancer from recurring which she started second week of october. 3 days later, while at her morning meeting at the ren faire, her heart stopped and she collapsed.

A lot of shit happened, including an airlift to a hospital, lots of CPR, medically-induced comas, surgery, a billion tests, driving back and forth 2 hours to the hospital on weekends while my parents stayed in a hotel indefinitely, and on halloween doctors told us that there is no scientific reason she would ever wake again. and yet, we decided to give her a fighting chance and that if anyone could beat the odds, it’s my sister.

And then about a week later, miraculously, she started showing signs of coming around. and somehow every day since then she has been getting better and better. even the doctors that said she had a 99.9% chance of never waking up said that she’s a miracle. and as of last week she finally got the okay to leave the hospital and is now in a rehab only 10 miles from home. she’s improving every day and is determined to get better and get out ASAP. it will probably take a few months but she’s getting there.

in more awful news, amidst all of that, i had to make the impossible decision to put my beloved 15-year old cat Starsky to sleep. his health had deteriorated very quickly and it was in his best interest not to let him suffer. i’m obviously absolutely devastated and nowhere near close to coping with the loss but with everything else going on in my immediate life, it sort of had to be on the backburner. i’ll miss my furry little soulmate, my perfect guy.

ANYWAYS. that’s my life in a nutshell these past few months.

I’ll close up on some good stuff:

+ the support of my friends near and far has been overwhelming (in a good way)—everyone really stepped up during the worst times of my life and somehow knew exactly what i needed, be it sending food and groceries, showing up at my house to keep me company, or just a good listening ear.

+ work really showed up in covering for me when i had to be at the hospital. they were super understanding for every little thing and my performance review for my very first year at my first non-retail job was positively glowing and came with an awesome raise.

+ and last but certainly not least, i know i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again but i’m so grateful to have @qqueenofhades in my life. having their patience and understanding while my entire life crumbled around me means the world to me. so yes i’m gonna be mushy on main about her 💖 she’s very cool and i like ‘em a lot 😘

OKAY HOPEFULLY THAT’S ENOUGH OF AN UPDATE. we can continue our regularly scheduled content shortly. thanks for being cool 💪✨

#about a buff

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yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

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Back to babyhood (kingdom hearts)

Sora woke with a start as his Micky mouse alarm went off. Looking around wildly and figuring out it wasn't a attack of some sort (he was kinda a dork for the first few minutes he was awake) he reached over and shut the alarm off and then sat there for a second, closing his eyes and building up for a reveal. He'd managed to keep his bed and pants clean for a whole 29 days so far, and if he was dry and clean, this would make it 30 and Rikku had promised to let him back in the master bedroom if he could prove he wasn't a big baby anymore. 'Moment of truth..' Sora thought and pulled the blankets back and then opened his left eye slowly and looked down, then both eyes. a big silly grin broke out over his face, he was all good! his white dino print jammies weren't brown or wet and there was NO stains on the bed. "YES! HAHAHAHA! I AM KING OF THE BIG BOYS!" Sora cheered and jumped up and down on his bed, pumping his fists into the air. "would the king of the big boys like to get dressed and come out for pancakes?" Came his boyfriend/daddies voice and sora stopped jumping and locked eyes with Rikku, then jumped off the bed and ran over. "I did it! no poopie or pee and that means I get to sleep in bed with you tonight!" Sora said, super excited. "Mhmmm..as long as you stay clean during the day..and you know what happens when you get too excited. go get dressed and use the can, I'll go and finish making breakfast for my king." Rikku chuckled and winked, then ruffling Sora's hair he took off. 'hmmff..Of course I can keep my pants clean during the day! that's not even a concern anymore!' Sora thought with a huff. still, it was better to do what Rikku wanted then argue with him, just because he was out of diapers and pull ups didn't mean he couldn't take a trip over rikku's lap. Since he had to work in a little under a hour Sora decided to put on his uniform and save time. It wasn't as fun or colorful as a lot of his other outfits but it wasn't suppose to be. A pale blue shirt with the general store on the corners logo on it, and a pair of black dress pants..it wasn't even like he actually needed the job with all the money him and Rikku had made while saving the world. Rikku though controlled the money as back when Sora had been..well ok, a total big baby in a big boys body, he hadn't exactly been responsible with money. or much of anything. That's not to say that Sora really wanted for much, but Rikku would only dole out the cash in allowances with this month marking the first time he'd trusted sora to hold the money himself. The Job at the store was more about teaching responsibility to Sora as well as give him something to focus on and keep him from slipping back into baby mood. Getting him the job had been touch and go, as Sora was well known enough around town as a big baby no one was really willing to hire him. Rikku had pointed out to the store manger, Malcore, That with all the diapers and other stuff they had bought there over the years Sora deserved a chance.

Rikku smirked at how damn proud Sora looked as he walked out, and then chuckled as the so called big boy started to drool seeing the spread on the table. Don't get Rikku wrong, he was glad that Sora was finally returning to adulthood such as it was (the boy had never been the most mature 18 year old even before the diapers) but the constant dirty diaper smell in the house and having to change a minuim of 4 dirty diapers a day wasn't as fun as one might think. "heh, watch the drool buddy." Rikku said and came over with a dish towel and wiped sora's chin anyways for him. "O-Oh yeah..ehehe sorry..just..yowie wowie! Were you up all night cooking?" Sora asked. on the table there was a stack of pancakes, a dish with bacon, some slices of ham, a dish filled with scrambled eggs and of course two pitchers of Milk and OJ. "No, I just got up a little early and assumed you'd be a big boy and wanted to celebrate." Rikku said and kissed Sora's cheek. "And it's all for me?" Sora asked. "Well, I'd like to have SOME of it,guessing I should make my plate first?" Rikku laughed then added "Just don't go too hog wild, you don't wanna stuff yourself and be on the can all day at work..again." "O-Oh Malcore called you about that huh?" Sora said sheepishly. "Well Roxas complained about having to work the floor alone..Speaking of which, is roxas coming over again today after work?" "IIIII dunno. I'll ask him when i get there." Sora said and took a seat. Rikku let it drop and fixed himself a plate and then tried to look away as Sora wolfed down the food with such gusto you were swear he hadn't eaten for days. He wasn't the biggest fan of Roxas for a few reasons, the first one being that he was trying to encourage Sora to baby out. the second was that he knew for a fact Roxas was getting into the stash of left over diapers at the house, and helping himself. Rikku had been semi sure that Roxas was a little diaper thief back before Sora got out of his huggies, though it was hard to keep track of back then.. but with no new diapers coming in to replace missing ones he'd kept count. Still he was Sora's best friend and as long as he didn't end up making sora land back in diapers just so he didn't have to buy his own, Rikku would let it slide.

Roxas whined as he looked though his underwear drawer, and then under his bed..there was no two ways about it: he was out of diapers again. It just wasn't fair (at least in his twisted little mind) that Sora had to go and screw him over like this.Like, he put up with how toxic and stinky Sora could be, and watched the dumb baby shows with him (never mind Roxas actually liked the shows just as much and wasn't exactly a rosebush when he loaded his diapers) and now Sora had to go and ruin it all by trying to become a stupid big boy and cut him off from his supply of diapers! sure Roxas COULD of gone and brought his own diapers, but he'd seen the smirks and snickers everyone gave when Sora had been getting his and didn't wanna risk that. He did after all have a reputation to keep. So naturally like any clever baby, Roxas decided to do the only thing he could do..which meant turn sora back into a diaper baby so he could go back to stealing diapers from him without worrying about Rikku noticing. To THAT end he made a special lunch just for Sora, and had prepped some video's for his bestie to watch, and he'd have him loading his pants like a CHAMP in no time. Any guilt he might of felt over turning Sora back into a diaper filling baby was taken away by the anger of Sora making him have to go days at a time without a diaper to wear at home..and the belief that Sora would be happier in diapers. Really, more people needed friends like him.

Sora got a text from Roxas partway though his munching and smirked. "Don't worry about packing me a lunch today, Roxas made me one to make up for being a brat when i kicked his butt at chocobo racing on Sunday." Sora giggled. "heh, well at least he admits it..I thought he was gonna smash the controller before I told him to knock it off before I'd have to spank his butt." Rikku chuckled. "Anyways, I should go brush my teeth and start walking for work." Sora said, belching one last time and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Breakfast was AWESOME, thanks da- Rikku." Sora blushed a little, catching himself at calling his boyfriend daddy, since that was what he did as a big BABY, but it wasn't always easy. Rikku just smiled and tapped his left cheek and tilted his head, and Sora took the hint. walking over he planted a big old smooch on Rikku's cheek then went off to finish getting ready for anther glorious day in retail.

Malcore yawned, he'd had to pull the night shift due to DT going back to collage and was mostly getting though on coffee. In truth if it hadn't of been for the fact that Josh and DT had been forced to cut back on their hours he would of never hired Sora or Roxas. Lord knows what head office would of thought if they had seen what a massive diaper dork Sora had been before, and it wasn't hard to see Roxas was a diaper dork just waiting to happen, if he wasn't just one at home. Still, faced with risking coming into find the two playing in diapers in the baby section or covering all the hours himself, Malcore had made his choice. That didn't mean though as Sora and Roxas came in and went to clock in he didn't give them a once over..Sniffling the air and making sure there was no baby powder or 'other' baby smells, and of course eyeing their butts to see if they were padded. truthfully it wasn't hard to tell on that front, the diapers these two seemed to favor, or at least he'd seen sora wear/Roxas eyeball on the shelf, tended to be super thick diapers that left nothing to the imagination. assured that they weren't padded, Malcore went over what had to get done, and assigned Roxas on cleaning duty (As in sweeping the floors once a hour, and checking on the public bathroom) which, of course got a face from Roxas.. and then assigned Sora to handling all shipping and receiving stuff, in case any shipments came in. His work done, malcore walked out mentally praying that they could keep being big boys, he just didn't have it in him today to come in and have to put up with poopie diaper boys.

The boys handled the first part of the shift fine, they had a mild early morning rush of people stopping off for coffee or snackage on their way into work, not to mention a few kids/teenagers in school stopping off for the same. Of course a lot of these kids had seen Sora back in his diapered baby days and half of them seemed to be there least to pick up something, and more to see if he was back to being a big baby. (this of course made Sora huffy, But as Malcore pointed out, it brought in customers so Sora had better just suck it up buttercup.) with the morning rush over, the boys decide that despite what malcore had said, they would split their duties with each other, and So after best two out of three of rock scissors paper lizard Spock Roxas swept the floor while sora cleaned the bathroom, complaining the whole time. "Dear god, are they even TRYING to get it in the bowl! And they think -I'M- the one who should be in diapers!" came sora's wail from the bathroom, making Roxas snicker. "now now, don't be a sore loser..if you would pick something besides Spock you might of won a round." Roxas called back. "I call hack's!" Sora whined, but finished cleaning and came out. "would you feel better if we took our break early? I got some video's I wanna show you." Roxas said. "HECK YEAH!" Sora said, and despite himself, he wiggled his butt..a hold over from his little guy days.

they didn't go to the break room since well, with two of them on, one of them had to stay upfront anyways, so the boy's plopped down behind the front counter and Roxas took out some of the homemade chocolate chip cookies he'd made, trying to make sure he gave the tainted ones with ex-lax chocolate used for the chips to Sora, while pulling up the special video's he'd prepped for Sora to watch. what Roxas didn't know was that while he had taken the time to prep two batches of the cookies, one which was sure to have a boy fudging his pants and one without, he'd gotten distracted thinking about all the diapers he was gonna steal and had only packed his laxative laced baked goods. there was no way to tell from the taste alone, and as they munched away, Sora watched the let's play video's Roxas had sent hours mixing with subliminal messages that would encourage the return of big baby Sora. "oh man! these guys are SO good at mega-man! I never even KNEW about some of these paths they're taking! Roxas, come see this!" Sora squealed excitedly, bouncing up and down in his seat, cookie crumbs goes down the front of his shirt as ate like a piggy despite his big breakfast, if there was one thing you could count on, no matter HOW full Sora got, he'd always have room for sweets. "I'm good, I already watched it. You watch that and I'll keep a eye on the door." Roxas said, finishing the last of his cookies too. "your the bestest friend ever!" Sora coo'ed, and wiggled like a happy toddler. clearly the messages were going to work already. 'Like sandblasting a soup cracker.' Roxas thought with a smirk. "heh, and don't you forget it."

Sora just couldn't stop smiling and giggling as he watched, and found himself re-watching certain parts of the same video over and over again. it never even dawned on him once that the happy giddy feeling he was experiencing could be traced back to the video, or that his bestest buddy in the whoooole world was setting him up to be a derpy diaper boy. he was kicking his legs and moving his head back and forth, though found himself getting bored with the let's play video's and since Roxas was dealing with a couple of collage students who had came in, he put in some headphones and switched over to YouTube and started to watch some Barney. he was just past the intro of the episode he had brought up when he looked up and noticed the two guys, and Roxas looking at him, and all three were smiling big time. Pausing the video and taking the headphones out, Sora looked back. "uhhh, can i help you?" he asked. "heh, no no, but you have a lovely singing voice." one of the students said and started laughing. "I loved just how into you got." the other said. "I-I wasn't singing!" sora huffed and blushed hotly. "Uh buddy? we know your watching barney, or at least the intro." Roxas said, smirking and shaking his head. "you can go back to it, but indoor voice please." he added. "o-oh.." Sora said in a soft voice, and put the headphones back and and glued his eyes to the screen, though now it was less a desire to watch the show and more just to block out the collage guys.

"heh, so are you like looking after him ot something or does he really work here?" The bigger of the two collage guys asked, sporting a brown crew cut. Just a few inches shorter, but with more of a barrel chest was a blond who was rocking a ponytail. "he's cute either way." the blond chimed in. "Yeah, he works here, but he's just a total dork. he gets paid in diapers." Roxas said, thinking up the lie on the spot. but his calculations, the cookies should be starting to kick in any second now, so he wagged his eyebrows. "in fact, any second now he's likely gonna start going off so we better get you two checked out befo-" he started when a super loud booming fart filled the store. only problem was it hadn't come from Sora, but Roxas who turned crimson. "heh, looks like there's more then one big baby in the store!" Blondie laughed. "Holy hell, did that hurt?" Crew cut asked, though he was holding his nose as a less then pleasure aroma had followed the blast of gas. "I uh..I er.." Roxas stammered, then quickly made his way behind the check out. "I-I think we b-better get you out of here b-before-" he tried to say only for anther back door blast to come out from his butt, a little wetter this time. as if taking it as a challenge, though he was engrossed in his show, Sora leaned to the side and while never taking his eyes off of the screen added to the hurricane of farts that was quickly rendering the store a toxic zone. "uh..I think we'll..get out drinks and snacks somewhere else.." Crew cut said, gagging a little and wiping at his eyes. "Yeahhh clearly the food here is tainted if you guys have been snacking on it." Blondie said, and the two guys left quick.

Sora drifted out of the zone he was in, when the smell finally hit him. he'd of course let out anther two farts before being knocked out of it, and Roxas had added in twice as many and was doing baby steps as he headed for the bathroom. "Hey Roxas, who cut the cheese?" Sora asked, clueless and was answered by a super gross and wet sounding fart from Roxas who froze in place, and had one hand on his tummy, and one on his butt, hunching over. "I guess that answers that." Sora said and slid out of his chair, on his way over to help his bestest buddy. or he was when a powerful cramp hit him and he hunched over, letting out a fart that sounded more like a foghorn then something that should of been possible for a human. "OWIE!" Sora cried out as it wasn't all that pleasant to let out, and Roxas whined and answered with a even worse sounding fart. "oh gawd, S-Sora..I think I'm gonna..gonna..." Roxas whined. "G-Gonna what?" the clueless Sora asked, shuffling slowly and getting up next to Roxas and then leaning on him, ending ANY shot Roxas might of had to get to the bathroom. "I'm gonna crap my pants!" Roxas wailed and then proceed to do so, bawling as the back of his undies puffed out and the back of his jeans showed what was happening. "M-me too!" Sora whimpered, and then bawled too as his bowels cut loose too and his own pants were ruined.

Being Sora's emergency contract and fairly responsible, Rikku always had his cell with him in case he was needed. Hence why even though he was relaxing in the tub, reading a novel he was quick to answer the phone when a call came though from the general store. It was hard to understand what was going on at first, though the wails and the sobbing, and Rikku had been cut off before he could even say hello, but soon enough he got the general idea of what had happened. It took about five minutes, during which time he got dried off and started to get dressed, but Rikku got both of the not so big boys calmed down to just gentle whimpers. "Sora, Buddy, You and Roxas get in the bathroom, I'll be down there as soon as possible with some clean pants..among other things. Ok?" "I..I..I DIDN'T MEAN TOOO! WAHHHHH!" Sora sobbed loudly, and in the back round Rikku could hear that he'd started Roxas up again. and so anther five minutes were used up as Rikku packed a diaper bag, there was only two of sora's diapers left. getting off the phone with the big babies he went out the door and right next door to where Roxas was living, and found the spare key under a flower pot right where Roxas had left it. he could of just just grabbed two pairs of Sora's pants but figured if a leak happened, he'd prefer it happen in Roxas's pants, not Sora's. he noticed a pink notice on the floor that had been put though the mail slot, but ignored it as he went into Roxas's room and while getting a pair of his pants, confirmed his belief that the brat was stealing diapers as he had a few wet ones in a trash can by his bed. "I'll have to put him on time out for that." Rikku said to himself and was heading back out the door when something on the kitchen counter caught his eye. coming into the kitchen he found a wrapper for some chocolate ex-ax, and there were cookies on the counter. recalling how sora had mentioned all they'd had were some cookies Roxas brought from home Rikku put 1 and 1 together. "..Forget a time out, he's getting his buns blistered!" Rikku growled. Storming out Rikku made his way double time to the store, now knowing he was gonna have to for SURE buy more diapers, there was no way those two weren't gonna be pooping their brains out al day.

Thankfully there was more then one potty in the bathroom, and Sora and Roxas were each on one, poopie undies and pants in the trash and holding onto the side of the potties while going again. "Oh gawd how do I still have bones left!?!" Roxas cried out. "I'm pooping lava!" Sora whined and whimpered. of course while Sora was clueless as to way he was pooping up a storm, Roxas knew full well why it was happening, and that this wasn't ending any time soon as he flushed. monkey see monkey do, Sora flushed too though even as they finished, both boys stayed seated, panting and gasping and exhausted. "Roxas..I dun think i want yer cookies anymore." Sora whined. "heh..fair..fair enough.." Roxas said, letting it go that Sora thought he was just a bad baker and not that this had been all by design, at least till he'd eaten them too. the boys sat there, willing their butt holes to close and suffered in silence, mostly. Roxas could hear the soft slurping noise of sora sucking his thumb. 'I hope that wasn't the hand he was wiping with..' Roxas thought and wrinkled his nose.

Rikku made it into the shop and was glad no one was inside, and nothing looked like it had been stolen. There was a awful stench in the air from the boys accidents and Rikku mused that it was likely the smell more then anything else had scared off any potential looters. He knew the place like the back of his hand, Sora had given him a grand tour (with permission from malcore) of the entire store after his first week, eager to show off, and besides that there was only the one bathroom for whole store that was shared by the customers and the staff alike. Making his way to the bathroom and taking shallow breath, Rikku paused to grab a few can's of air freshener. 'I doubt Malcore will mind me using these..better then coming into a store that smells like a diaper pail.' Rikku reasoned mentally, and then used up all of one can and half of the second. with THAT taken care of Rikku made his way into the bathroom and announced his arrival by making use of the second can and putting a arm to his mouth and nose. if it had smelled like a diaper pail out front, in the bathroom it was a dumpster of dirty diapers. "whew, you boys ok in here? you didn't break the potties did you?" he called. From the stall closet to him Roxas's voice started to answer he was ok, but it was drowned out by Sora's voice in the stall closet to the window. "Daddy!" Sora whimpered out, and the door open and the naked from the waist down save for his socks and shoes Sora ran out and glomped Rikku. Rikku smiled and set the can down on the sink, then wrapped one arm around Sora and used the other to pat the boys head. "Daddy I'm sowwy! I don't know why but my bum won't l-listen to me and i just wanna wear my diapies and hug you and and I don't think I'm a big boy anymore and i just wanna be your babbbby!" Sora whimpered and wailed, nuzzling his head into Rikku's chest and getting his shirt damp with tears. "shhh it's ok Sora..it's oook. We're just gonna get you and Roxas dressed, and then we'll finish out your shift, all three of us ok? Then I'll talk with malcore and let him know you'll be quitting." Rikku said and rubbed the big babies back, then tilted his head up and kissed his forehead. Switching his gaze to the stall that roxas was in, Rikku cleared his throat. "are you just gonna hide in there, or you wanna come out too? I can give you a hug if you need one as well." rikku said. he'd been half joking when he made the offer of course, but wasn't shocked when the door opened and Roxas took a spot on the side of Rikku and whimpered and sobbed too.

Getting both boys fully cleaned up, Rikku wasn't shocked when neither one of them protested to the diapers he'd brought (in fact both of them had gotten a little 'exited' while he was powdering them) but then there came a problem that Rikku for all his skills as a daddy hadn't foreseen. the pants barely fit over the diapers, and there was no way to button them or zip them up. "er..who wants to go pants-less for the rest of their shift?" Rikku asked, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly after the tenth attempt to get either of them zipped up failed. "oh oh! Me! MEEEE!" Sora said, holding up his left hand and giggling. now that he had been told it was ok to go back to being a baby, he'd grabbed it with both hands so to speak and gladly kicked off his pants. "Now everyone can see how cute my diapies are daddy!" he giggled and wiggled his butt. Roxas on the other hand, turned pale. "No! no no no no no!" he whined and as if it was somehow Rikku's fault for not trying hard enough, hopped up and down tugging on the dress pants trying to force them up. "Come onnn work with me you stupid things!" Roxas whined, looking like a huffy toddler and Sora giggled and snuggled into daddy watching the show. "er..Roxas..i don't think it's gonna work. you might as well give up before you-" Rikku started. he was cut off as a loud rip was hear and the ass of the pants ripped open, along with the crotch of them. "..rip them." Rikku finished, trying not to laugh at the look of shock and embarrassment on Roxas face. "I..but..DAMN IT!" Roxas yelled and grabbed at the rip and tore it all, venting his frustrations at the poor pants while Sora gasped and covered his ears. "Daddy! he said a bad word!" Sora cried out. "I think we'll let him have a mulligan on that one buddy." Rikku said and gave Sora a side hug. A side hug that apparently helped whatever was left in the boys system come out because Sora yelped and then hugged Rikku tight and buried his face into his side as he started to load his diaper. not to be out done and with the remains of his pant's in his hands, Roxas dropped to a squat and used one hand to brace himself on the floor as the other arm clutched at his tummy. the back of both boy's white and chocobo print diapers puffed out rapidly and the chocobo's vanished from the back and front as they wet themselves while loading their diapers. '..oh good. because one stinky baby wasn't enough.' Rikku thought sweat dropping as the wails started again. "DADDDDY!" Came the twin cries, at the same time and Rikku wondered if maybe, just maybe..the two had practiced to nail such perfect timing.

Helping himself to a pack of the extra thick nighttime diapers off the shelf, and keeping track of what he'd owe Malcore, Rikku got the big babies changed even as they hiccuped and whined. the sobs and complaints about the design of the diapers (have just generic moons and stars on them) were muffled as Rikku also snagged a package of pacifiers from the shelf and popped one in each boys mouth. red mouth guard for Sora, yellow for Roxas. the big babies sucked on their paci's and wiped at their tears with one hand, but also were (Squeal!) holding each others hands for support while Rikku got them changed. He tried to get them to stand up and find something for them to do once they were nice and safe in their diapers, but the boys legs were shaken and they both looked wiped. considering how much they had pooped out and how fast it had happened, it wasn't really all that surprising though really. Rikku added to his mental tab and got a couple of baby bottle off of the shelf and then some Gatorade and filled the bottles up. the electrolyte's in the juice would help them feel better in a bit, though they were both falling asleep. Looking around the store, Rikku spotted a play pen that was on display in the back and tilted his head. 'It'll be a little cramped..but it's the best I can do.' he thought. With the big babies fading fast and rubbing their eyes even as they sucked on their ba-ba's (Rikku had made use of paci clips and ribbons so the paci's just hung from the boys work shirts) Rikku got them both up and set on either hip and carried them down to the playpen. "Ok sleepyheads, you two are gonna go night night for awhile ok? Daddy will be here when you wake up. I know the play pen is gonna be a little cramped, but it's the best I can do on short notice." Rikku said. there was no fight left in the big babies and they just slowly nodded. 'If they were only so cute and agreeable ALL the time.' Rikku thought to himself. of course just because Roxas was all cute and helpless NOW didn't mean he wasn't going to get punished later. it just meant Rikku was willing to let him work this this if for no other reason then bare bottom spanking a oversized big baby when they have the runs will ALWAYS end badly. Gently setting them in the playpen, Rikku couldn't help but grin like a fool and lean over the edge and watch as the more asleep then awake baby snuggled right into each other and let the ba-ba's drop and then (BIG squeal!) popped each others paci in the others mouth as they went off to dream land.'...OK..maybe having two big babies is gonna be worth the extra stink.' Rikku mentally gushed. grabbing a blanket he put it over the sleeping babies, and then went to work cleaning up.

Malcore was NOT happy as he made his way back to the store. the manger had been woken up from a dead sleep by a deliver man bringing certain ..packages.. to his place but when malcore had gone to take his wallet out to show ID he'd realized he'd forgotten it back at the store. Thankfully the guy cut him a break and let him get his packages but now the half asleep and grumpy Manger had to walk ALL the way to and ALL the way back to the store, because he'd been a dumb ass and let his next door neighbor borrow his car. "No good deed goes fucking unpunished." Malcore grumbled. walking into the shop he noticed a heavy fruity scent in the air and groaned. "Roxas, Sora, I swear if you two were playing fart war again Il.." Malcore started and then blinked as it was Rikku who was behind the counter, not one of his employee's. "oh uh..Hey Malcore." Rikku said. "is there a reason your behind the counter right now and not one of the two dorks i pay to be hind the counter?" Malcore asked. before Rikku could answer however there was a loud snore from the back of the shop. Holding a hand up to shush Rikku, Malcore walked over and looked down to the back of the store and yup, there was Sora and Roxas, asleep in a playpen. "..Do I wanna know the full details or do I wanna just save the head ache and fire them both and pray I can get someone else in to cover their shift?" malcore asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "..if it helps you've made about a $100 bucks off of them from everything I've had to buy and plan to leave with." Rikku said sheepishly. "Uh-huh.. I'll just be keeping their last pay checks, and you can sit here till I convince DT or Josh or Lute to come in. flip side, you can load up on what you need for them on the way out after I get a replacement in here." "heh, deal." 'And they wonder why I need my stress relief so much.' Malcore thought and headed for the office.

after about 45 minutes DT came into the store, looking pouty and smelling of baby power but dressed and ready for work. he did stop to gush and coo at how cute the big babies looked even if by that point Roxas and Sora had been changed into clean diapers and put into a black mage print onesie for Roxas, and a chocobo print one for Sora. they were also in a double stroller with lots of diapers packed in the undercarriage. Sora giggled and coo'ed as DT baby talked and tickled his chin while Roxas was red faced and sucking on his paci, hugging a teddy bear after finding out he'd been canned. "Who's a widdle cutie, who's a cute widdle big baby?" DT gushed and coo'ed. "hehehehe Meeee!" Sora gurgled in babyish tone and clapped his hands. "That's right! such a clever boy!" DT said and tapped Sora on the nose, then turned his attention to Roxas."Awww don't look so grumpy, your a big baby t-" DT started to say but Roxas shot him a look and DT gulped and moved away from the front of the stroller. "Er..yeah..so..I think that cuteness makes up for getting woken up." DT said, squeaking a little as he talked to Rikku "Right. you were were sleeping." Rikku said, giving a knowing look to the clerk. After all a professional daddy like Rikku knew a big baby when he saw one.

Wheeling the babies out of the shop they headed home with Sora going out of his way to wave hi to people and get attention from anyone they came across, the video had fried any sense of modesty from him and Roxas could only try and hide behind his stuffed bear as he thought he had a reputation to protect. Of course everyone on the block knew he was just as much of a big baby as Sora, but for the most part no one said anything because when confronted he had a habit of going into a high pitched whining denial speech and the whine could get SO high pitched dogs would howl. Making it back to Rikku and Sora's place first, Rikku got the stroller inside and then let the babies out while he unloaded everything from it. "Look uh..I'm glad you bailed us out and everything..but..I'm gonna go home." Roxas said, huffing a little as he stood there dressed like a big baby. "Well before you go, I figured you might want these..and know that I know what you did." Rikku Said, handing two of the large packs of diapers to Roxas and giving the big baby a look. The color drained from the big babies face and he stammered and whined a little as Sora who had been crawling over to go and play with some toys turned around and looked confused. "what did he do daddy?" the big aby asked. "Oh, nothing you need to worry about little guy. but he'll be coming over later to get punished for it. right Roxas?" Rikku said and looked Roxas right in the eyes. a wet fart escaped the blond and he gave a weak smile. "I.I..Uh..Yes sir." he said meekly. he briefly wondered about just trying to put it off and avoid contract with Rikku for like a week or so and see if this would just blow over. "And you know the longer you wait to take your licks, the worse it's going to be right?" Rikku added. 'Well shit.' Roxas thought. "I-I Understand sir." Roxas said, anther wet fart coming out and some bubbly ones coming from sora too. "if I was you, I'd either get my butt home before you end up unloading on the front lawn or just stay in here for anther diaper change." Rikku advised. Roxas went to say something but a bubbling fart had him change his mind and dash out the door, racing home.

Luck was on Roxas side, or so it seemed at first as he made it to his place and got inside before the churning in his tummy tum had him drop to his knees and start filling out the seat of his diaper once again. by this point he was basically used to the helpless feeling of crapping himself, though it still kinda hurt and burned. As he groaned and grunted and loaded his huggies, the door closed thankfully, he noticed the pink paper on the floor and gulped. even before he picked it up to read it he had a fairly good idea what it was going to say. he was maybe a month or two..ok 4 months behind on rent and had kept promising to make payments but then would go ahead and blow all his money on video games and the like. this mean he was the envy of every other boy on the block but as he looked the notice over, it also meant he had a week to move his stuff out. He was being evicted. "what did I do to deserve all of this!" Roxas cried out loud as he finished pooping his pampers and slowly got up to his feet using the wall for balance. a quick look in the kitchen and seeing the chocolate ex-lax wrapper reminded him. "..DAMN IT!"

Rikku was in the middle of changing Sora, who was busy sucking on his paci and playing with a stuffie as Rikku handled the the dirty deed, when the door bell rang. Since Sora was all clean and just waiting on a fresh diaper Rikku rubbed his belly. "you gonna be ok here for a second champ while I answer the door?" he asked. Sora nodded and went back to playing with his stuffie and Rikku made his way to the door quickly. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sora to stay put, it was more of he didn't wanna come back and find out he had peed all over himself. Opening the door Rikku was semi shocked to find Roxas back already, he hadn't been gone that long. A strong breeze blew and even if Roxas's diaper hadn't of been sagging in his onesie Rikku would of been able to tell that he was a stinky boy. "heh, you know, I'm not gonna change EVERY poo-" Rikku started, but was cut off. "I-I'm getting evicted..and..and..Can I move in with you guys for awhile?" Roxas asked, bottom lip trembling. "J-just till I get back on my feet!" Rikku thought about how Roxas had turned Sora back into a big baby, and gotten them both fired (though Sora again WAS gonna quit) and toyed with saying no. but in the end seeing the big baby scared and upset, he just couldn't bring himself to be mean. "I suppose so..but there are going to be some rules..but we'll go over them in a bit. first, let's get you changed into a clean diaper." Rikku said and ruffled Roxas hair. the big baby glomped him and Rikku just smiled.

Sora was more then a little excited at the prospect of having a brother to share his nursery with and babbled on and on about all the fun stuff the two of them were gonna do together as he sat on the floor in just a diaper and socks while Rikku changed Roxas. Rikku explained it was going to be din din time soon, the boys needed to get something in their systems and it was just easier to have big babies in diapers and socks while they ate. He also explained that as long as Roxas lived under his roof, he'd be treated JUST like Sora, which meant treated JUST like a big silly baby. no changing his own diapers, no using the potty, 7:30 pm bedtimes and the whole nine yards. If at any point Roxas had had enough and didn't wanna do it, he was always free to walk out the door. Sniffling as he heard the rules, Roxas thought about how all of this had started just so he could steal some diapers and pretend to BE a baby. Now he was trapped, with no job and no money..he was STUCK as a baby, It was a fitting punishment and fitting end for the blonds plans, and he STILL had a spanking to look forward to.

THE END...For now.

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theolsentimes · 3 years ago

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Ashley Olsen Spills Her Secrets

The personal-style icon and force behind two thriving fashion lines gives us a peek into her closet, and her life.

Written by Lucy Kaylin (Marie Claire, 2009)

VIEW GALLERY

There's something genius about seeing the chicest girl in New York all dolled up in tacky cowgirl fringe. I'm sitting with Ashley Olsen at a table in her Greenwich Village town house, looking through a scrapbook—compiled by her great-grandmother—that pretty much tells the story of her and Mary-Kate's blistering rise. The pages are filled with gently yellowed clippings from local newspapers chronicling their toddlerhood on the sitcom Full House through their early years as a two-headed pop-culture juggernaut: the Olsen twins on the publicity circuit in genie costumes; in fairy costumes; in terrycloth robes; in penguin suits; in trenchcoats; in mini-mogul drag; in, yes, cowgirl fringe ... "I look back at the things that we did and the clothes that we wore, and I think, Wow, we really were troupers," says Ashley—although, gazing at some hideous flowered overalls she was put in at age 6 or 7, she has to admit, "I remember really loving those." What comes across in the photos is the degree to which the girls' lives were engineered. "It was almost like I was in the army," Ashley says. "School, work, homework, fly to New York, get in at 2 in the morning, do a morning show at 5 a.m., then another one at 7, then a radio interview at 10, you know?" Cutesy, coordinated outfits were just part of the drill. The pressure was intense and the scrutiny even more so — "That's why I look at Britney, and I'm surprised I didn't end up like her."

To see Ashley now, it's difficult to fathom that part of her life. At 23, she is very much the master of her own fate, and an icon of defiant personal style. Today she's wearing beige corduroys made exponentially cooler by the fact that she's ripped them up the side seams from hem to shin—and the fact that she's owned them since she was about 15. (Understand: She never, ever throws out clothes. The genie and penguin costumes? All stashed in storage units in L.A. warehouses.) She's paired the beige cords with a signature piece from her and Mary-Kate's fashion line The Row—a supersoft white T-shirt with an artfully stretched-out neck, the short sleeves of which she likes pushing up over her shoulders. Add black flats without socks, tuck the fine blonde hair up under a floppy skateboarder's cap, and the look—at least on her—is just hip and effortless and right. "I think you're either born with a sense of style or you're not," Ashley says in her small, soft voice, giving her knuckles a loud crack. "Either you care or you don't. And we"—she and Mary-Kate—"love fashion. When we were going to NYU, I think that was the first time we were aware of the power of our personal style. Not the power of it, but the result of it. Between the big sunglasses and the Starbucks cup and the big sweaters, the hobo-chic thing, we were more shocked than anything"—by the endless commentary and tabloid coverage. "I get it; we were fortunate enough to have really nice clothes, and we put them together in this raggedy way. My mom wears glasses this big"—she mimes massive goggles—"from the '70s, and you wonder where we got it from?" She laughs. "The dark eyeliner, the scarf around the head—it's just so interesting and natural." Her family, she says, was "very bohemian." "Mary-Kate and I are very aware of trends and style, but at the end of the day, we don't even think twice about it. It's just, What do I feel like wearing today, and how do I want to put it together?" To some extent, Ashley buys the theory that years of being manhandled and styled bred an intense desire in both girls to dress themselves. Eventually, that meant cutting down and altering designer pieces to suit their petite frames—a habit that persists rather feverishly to this day. "The amount of beautiful things we've ruined—not having the patience for a tailor and cutting everything ourselves … My sister once took an Alaïa dress of mine and just cut the whole thing, and then she was like, 'I cut it too short.'" Ashley has to laugh. "Mary-Kate and I don't think about fashion as these clean, beautiful objects. We just kind of wear it and live in it"—and make it their own. When she bought the Daytona watch that's currently on her wrist, she promptly changed the white face to black and the gold links to a crocodile band. In other words, fashion is a way the otherwise elusive Olsens express themselves—most notably through two clothing lines that are somehow thriving despite the cataclysmic retail climate. Ashley and Mary-Kate collaborate closely on Elizabeth and James (named for their siblings), a line that commingles softness and toughness—for instance, slouchy boyfriend jackets and shirts with a flirty ruffle. The idea is to create "a tug-of-war in something with a masculine spirit and a feminine attitude," says Neiman Marcus Fashion Director Ken Downing. "The girls keep nailing it season after season after season. And they single-handedly brought the legging back into fashion." While Mary-Kate tends to conjure the overriding concepts—playing with movie references from Oliver Twist to Hook for the fall '09 collection—Ashley hones in on zippers and buttons and fit. "Nothing gets by them," says their Elizabeth and James partner, Jane Siskin. The Row, meanwhile, speaks more to their desire for a closetful of what Ashley calls "high-end basics": the perfect blazer, the just-so T-shirt, the cashmere sweater that sort of melts in your hands—with intriguing twists like a seam running up the back. "I just really wanted to make beautiful things," she says. "An educated garment." According to Debi Greenburg, owner of Louis Boston, "Because Ashley's a bit of a type A personality, there's perfection in the way the clothes fit, the way they're cut, that translates on the body beautifully. The Row has become one of my stellar collections here." Ashley leads me through a few rooms of her town house, haphazardly decorated in battered leather chairs with arms worn down to the stuffing; on the walls are a rare Basquiat self-portrait and three works by Keith Haring that she got at a pawnshop for $30 apiece. In the corner is a drum kit from the Wii game Rock Band, Ashley's new obsession (she plays it at least two hours a night). "I swear to you, it's brought out this whole new thing in me," she says. "I can be a very serious person, and I take my job very seriously, but at the end of the day, I need a break." Her boyfriend, The Hangover's Justin Bartha, also helps in that area. He just called from a press junket in Europe; Ashley signed off with, "Keep your phone by the bed" and "I love you." To say the least, it's been a relief for this pillar of self-sufficiency to have someone she can count on, who puts her ambitions in perspective. "It's more important than anything else in the world," Ashley says.

#Ashley Olsen #britney spears #marie claire #articles #Interviews #quotes #Ashley Quotes

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saventhhaven · 5 years ago

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Breaking and Entering

Pairing: None

Tags: scared!reader, tired!reader, awkward!Sam, baseball bat

Word Count: 1,528

A/N: Thanks to @spn-imagines-nation for the prompt!

(Gif not mine)

It had been a hellish day at work. After your eight-hour shift had turned into a twelve-hour shift, you were about two seconds away from quitting your job and becoming a stripper instead. Hell, that had been your backup plan for as long as you could remember, but lately, you were more serious than you ever had been. You couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. As soon as you got a raise at your full-time job, you were gone. Quite frankly, that day couldn't come soon enough. Even as part-time, retail was ridiculous. The number one rule was "the customer is always right," and they knew it, too. The especially difficult ones would come in with an un-returnable product and then throw a fit when you couldn't give them anything back for it. In your opinion, someone should put a law in place that forced everyone to work a retail job for at least a year. Maybe then you wouldn't be treated like shit so much.

You were exhausted when you got home - too exhausted even to eat, which was seriously saying something. As soon as you got back home, you had gone upstairs, taken off all clothes aside from your panties and bra, and collapsed into bed. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and you had the next two days off. Your weekend plans consisted of sleeping from Saturday to Sunday if needed, and pretty much nothing else. That is until a noise from downstairs had your eyes popping open. Instantly, you were wide awake, despite your tiredness when you lay down. For years, your dad had nagged you about installing an alarm system in your house, but you never had seriously considered it, unfortunately. It would definitely come in handy right now.

As you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand, your heart sunk in your chest. Seriously? Where the hell was it? Obviously, not where it usually was, but still, you couldn't believe your luck. You had to bite your tongue to keep from swearing as you remembered the location of your cellphone. Last night, you had plopped it down on a console table next to the front door with your keys. Peachy. If anything else happened, you were going to start thinking the misfortune of all those busty girls in the hoaky horror movies were for real. Here you were, alone in your house, in your underwear, and your phone was downstairs along with the intruder. Really, this was just perfect.

Swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you were careful not to let the floorboards creak beneath you. You were pretty much already toast, but even more so if you made any noise sneaking up on said intruder. It was moments like these that always made you question your life decisions. For example, not owning a gun, or even a FOID card, for that matter. No, instead, you were stuck with an old aluminum baseball bat from when you were in middle school. Not the worst weapon, in retrospect, but definitely not your first choice either.

As you padded down the (thankfully) carpeted stairs, you tried to keep your heart from beating too loudly, without much luck. At this rate, if your knees knocking together didn't give you away, your loud-ass heartbeat sure as hell would. You glanced around the corner of the wall at the bottom of the staircase, straining your eyes as you peered into the dark living room. The silhouette of a hulking figure moved around the back of your couch, facing away from you. You could tell by the build of the figure that he was a man, but what was he looking for? Too bad for him, it was going to be lights out before he found it. You reared up your bat above your shoulder, letting out a battle cry as you rushed him. Hearing you come up behind him, the man whirled around, ducking your makeshift weapon in the nick of time. You made a note to yourself: no battle cry in the future.

"Scumbucket!" you screeched, swinging the bat around wildly.

"Y/N, hey, it's me!" As the tall man dodged your strikes, something clicked in the back of your brain. You knew that voice.

“Sam?" As you finally realized who was in your home, you flicked on the light.

"Hi," he said with an awkward wave. Narrowing your eyes, you allowed the bat to fall to the floor with a loud clang.

"'Hi?'" You smacked him hard in the arm several times.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, backing away.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you hollered at him.

"Yeah, I can see that," he replied. He gestured to you, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he made an effort not to look. "Y-you... you're, ah..." You glanced down at yourself, half-surprised to see that you were still in your underwear. You had sort of forgotten about that part. Squeezing your eyes shut, you made a face as you shook your head.

"I just can't catch a break, can I?" you muttered. Sam reached for the pile of clean laundry you had been meaning to put away, snagging a shirt and pair of shorts.

"Here," he said, still not making eye contact. You smirked at him as you took the clothes, pulling them on.

"Oh, come on, Sam," you teased. "It's not anything you haven't seen before." The man went beet red.

"W-well, that's-" he stammered. "I-I mean, I-" You snorted.

"Relax. I'm kidding." Sam seemed relieved, letting his shoulders relax. "Listen," you started again. "Not that I'm not happy to see you - I am, seriously, I'm super glad you're not a burglar - but what are you doing here at..." Glancing at a clock on the wall, you sighed. "Four in the morning?" For the first time since he arrived, you got a good look at him, squinting in confusion at his apparel. "And why are you in your FBI gear?" Suddenly, it all clicked, and you held up a finger at him. "Oh, no. No. You did not come here and break into my house at the ass-crack of dawn, by the way, for a case!”

"Look, I'm sorry I scared you," Sam apologized, "but you were a huge help last time, and I could use a hand." You shook your head again as you began to pace. The last time you helped the Winchesters, things got ugly. Like, had to lay low for two months and move away ugly. Because of them, you had to totally uproot your life and start over, and that was something you were not doing again. But the last time you helped the Winchesters, you also saved lives. You helped people, you killed a bad guy, and the world had become a little better because of it. You couldn't just sit idly by knowing that more people might die if you didn't help out.

"And this case is in town?" Sam nodded.

"Yeah. It's the owner of that general goods store down the road." He laid a hand on your shoulder as he looked you in the eye, forcing you to come to a halt. Damn him. He knew you were a goner for those puppy-dog eyes. "I've gotta be honest with you here. It won't be easy, and I hate that I would be putting you in danger," he confessed. "But I can't do this by myself." You gnashed your teeth together.

"And your brother can't help you?"

"No," Sam replied. "He's in Oregon dealing with a poltergeist." You would be lying if you said you weren't at least a tiny bit intrigued.

"What is it?" you questioned. "Vengeful spirit? Ghoul?"

"Vampire," he answered, earning a surprised look.

"Vampire?” you echoed. "Huh. That's a new one." You had to admit, ever since the boys had left town, life had been painfully boring. "Damn it," you grumbled. With a final huff, you pushed his hand from your shoulder and headed toward the kitchen. "All right." You reached for the coffee pot. If you were going to do this at this hour, caffeine was a must.

"Does that mean..?" Sam asked, hopefully from the living room. You had to hide your eagerness as you turned back around to face him.

"Yeah, I'll help you." Instantly, he let out a breath of relief. "Get in here and give me the rundown before I change my mind and go back to bed." Seeming to call your bluff, he tilted his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, if it's really too much trouble, I can just go," he offered. As he turned to leave, you grabbed onto his wrist to keep him in place.

"All right, you got me," you revealed. "I'm weirdly excited. Things have been too... normal since you and your brother left." Sam chuckled. "Now sit your ass down while I make some coffee." Once the coffee began to percolate, you sat down across from the youngest Winchester at the kitchen table, allowing your enthusiasm to show in your eyes. "So. Tell me about our monster."

Thank you for reading! <3

As always, links to my masterlist, taglist, and inbox (requests are open!) are in my bio!

My Everythings:

@cole-winchester @alexwinchester23 @1-am-made-of-stardust @thorukindig @fiftyshadesoffandom6783 @hobby27 @supernaturalenchanted @organicpurplepants @odysseyofasiren @defenderrosetyler @crystal-lilac @youshrimpdickfucknugget

#Supernatural #fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #one shot #one shot fanfiction #Supernatural one shot #Sam Winchester #reader #original female character #female reader #burglar #scumbucket #not my original idea #my original work though #comedy?#you decide

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 4 years ago

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I’ve been thinking about pricing. My aunt told me, back when I was first starting my etsy store, that that my 10.00 necklaces were too cheap but I was reluctant to increase the price because those were the only ones that actually sold and it was only because they were cheap. I could afford to sell them cheap because my mom has a lot of jewelry-making supplies that she doesn’t mind me using, so I don’t have to buy every little piece I need myself. I’ve been given a grant of free clasps, headpins, etc. But when I get a bunch of orders at once, for a necklace I haven’t made up in advance because it has two color options and I can’t know how many of which color people will want, I really start to wonder if the price I’m charging is worth it for the amount of labor I put in. Maybe it’s just the holiday rush coinciding with mental fatigue, but the money I’m getting doesn’t feel worth it. I increase the price--only by a few dollars, after much deliberation. I don’t want people to stop buying entirely. Hopefully I’ve got enough of a following now that I can feasibly do this. I don’t know. The 25.00 and up necklaces still aren’t selling. I’ve already lowered the prices as far as I could stand. Beads cost more than people realize, and that’s not counting labor, time spent deciding on a pattern or finding the right combination of beads. I increase those prices a bit too, just so I can make something back if they ever do sell.

I’ve been thinking about money. I’m working retail, trying to save as much as I can so I can move out of my emotionally abusive parents’ house, but it feels like a sisyphean task. I’m paid so little and cost of living is so high and when I go I want to burn my bridges but what sets me free will also leave me without support. I’ve never lived entirely on my own before and my mental health is not the best and the thought is terrifying, yet I have to force myself to deal with living here just a little longer, a month at a time. Every time I buy myself a small treat (a shake. a fun tie for my collection, from goodwill.) I have to grapple with my guilt, justify to myself that I’m going to burn out if I don’t find ways to cheer myself up while I’m stuck in this situation. It takes 2 hours of work to make back the gas money it takes to commute to work every few days. Probably more now, I believe I got those numbers when gas prices were still low. Every day I go to work, the radio says that coronavirus cases are rising, and there are people not wearing masks and I have to walk right next to them to do my job.

I’ve been thinking about systems. “this is barely worth it” I think while I’m making necklaces. “Yes it is” I say to cheer myself up, and “hey I can use some of this money to buy those cosplay glasses I’ve been thinking about without feeling guilty about dipping into my Job Money which I’m Supposed to be Saving, that’d be fun. They’re pretty cheap on Amaz*n.” I hate Am!zon. Aside from all their other sins, they own the company I work for now and get blamed for the increasingly soulless, corporate and no-fun-allowed dress code, so it’s personal as well as moral. The glasses are cheap there because someone is not being paid nearly enough to make them. I, a person also not getting paid enough, can afford to buy them because they’re extremely cheap, thus continuing the cycle.

I’ve been thinking about what I’d do if I had the money, the independent artists I’d support and the gofundme’s I’d top up, the gifts I’d be able to buy for my friends. I’ve been wondering if the rest of my life is going to be scraping to survive, or if my choice is between that and staying with my parents and suffering a slow death. I’ve been wondering how long I can keep up with any of this. I don’t think my mental health could stand taking a second job even if there was enough time in the day. The etsy store is technically a second job but it barely feels worth the effort at times. It’s just the burnout, I know, because it is making me money, it’s just sort of the hopelessness of it all. I haven’t made enough through etsy in this whole year to cover one month of rent at the cheapest place I could find. At least work pays enough to cover that, if I’m getting long hours, but that leaves me scared to do the math on how much else I’d need to survive. And here I am, a bit better off than I was last year because I’m working and my mental health is a bit better (for one thing I don’t have the internalized Unemployment Is a Moral Evil Even if I’m Mentally Ill guilt to contend with anymore) and I at least know who I am now, but it feels like I’m not making progress anyway.

#personal (ok to rb)#vent #rant #what to tag as #I'm not complaining about the etsy store it's great this is NOT a complaint #anyways. in a FUN place where I'm uncomfortably aware of the privilege I do have and the fact that it wont last bc my family hates me #....shouldn't last becasue I don't want to be here any longer than I have do but oohhhhh boy how do i manage leaving

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shadowfromthestarlight · 4 years ago

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The moment a group of people stormed the Capitol building last Wednesday, news companies began the process of sorting and commoditizing information that long ago became standard in American media.

Media firms work backward. They first ask, “How does our target demographic want to understand what’s just unfolded?” Then they pick both the words and the facts they want to emphasize.

It’s why Fox News uses the term, “Pro-Trump protesters,” while New York and The Atlantic use “Insurrectionists.” It’s why conservative media today is stressing how Apple, Google, and Amazon shut down the “Free Speech” platform Parler over the weekend, while mainstream outlets are emphasizing a new round of potentially armed protests reportedly planned for January 19th or 20th.

What happened last Wednesday was the apotheosis of the Hate Inc. era, when this audience-first model became the primary means of communicating facts to the population. For a hundred reasons dating back to the mid-eighties, from the advent of the Internet to the development of the 24-hour news cycle to the end of the Fairness Doctrine and the Fox-led discovery that news can be sold as character-driven, episodic TV in the manner of soap operas, the concept of a “Just the facts” newscast designed to be consumed by everyone died out.

News companies now clean world events like whalers, using every part of the animal, funneling different facts to different consumers based upon calculations about what will bring back the biggest engagement kick. The Migrant Caravan? Fox slices off comments from a Homeland Security official describing most of the border-crossers as single adults coming for “economic reasons.” The New York Times counters by running a story about how the caravan was deployed as a political issue by a Trump White House staring at poor results in midterm elections.

Repeat this info-sifting process a few billion times and this is how we became, as none other than Mitch McConnell put it last week, a country:

Drifting apart into two separate tribes, with a separate set of facts and separate realities, with nothing in common except our hostility towards each other and mistrust for the few national institutions that we all still share.

The flaw in the system is that even the biggest news companies now operate under the assumption that at least half their potential audience isn’t listening. This leads to all sorts of problems, and the fact that the easiest way to keep your own demographic is to feed it negative stories about others is only the most obvious. On all sides, we now lean into inflammatory caricatures, because the financial incentives encourage it.

Everyone monetized Trump. The Fox wing surrendered to the Trump phenomenon from the start, abandoning its supposed fealty to “family values” from the Megyn Kelly incident on. Without a thought, Rupert Murdoch sacrificed the paper-thin veneer of pseudo-respectability Fox had always maintained up to a point (that point being the moment advertisers started to bail in horror, as they did with Glenn Beck). He reinvented Fox as a platform for Trump’s conspiratorial brand of cartoon populism, rather than let some more-Fox-than-Fox imitator like OAN sell the ads to Trump’s voters for four years.

In between its titillating quasi-porn headlines (“Lesbian Prison Gangs Waiting To Get Hands on Lindsay Lohan, Inmate Says” is one from years ago that stuck in my mind), Fox’s business model has long been based on scaring the crap out of aging Silent Majority viewers with a parade of anything-but-the-truth explanations for America’s decline. It villainized immigrants, Muslims, the new Black Panthers, environmentalists — anyone but ADM, Wal-Mart, Countrywide, JP Morgan Chase, and other sponsors of Fortress America. Donald Trump was one of the people who got hooked on Fox’s narrative.

The rival media ecosystem chose cash over truth also. It could have responded to the last election by looking harder at the tensions they didn’t see coming in Trump’s America, which might have meant a more intense examination of the problems that gave Trump his opening: the jobs that never came back after bankers and retailers decided to move them to unfree labor zones in places like China, the severe debt and addiction crises, the ridiculous contradiction of an expanding international military garrison manned by a population fast losing belief in the mission, etc., etc.

Instead, outlets like CNN and MSNBC took a Fox-like approach, downplaying issues in favor of shoving Trump’s agitating personality in the faces of audiences over and over, to the point where many people could no longer think about anything else. To juice ratings, the Trump story — which didn’t need the slightest exaggeration to be fantastic — was more or less constantly distorted.

Trump began to be described as a cause of America’s problems, rather than a symptom, and his followers, every last one, were demonized right along with him, in caricatures that tickled the urbane audiences of channels like CNN but made conservatives want to reach for something sharp. This technique was borrowed from Fox, which learned in the Bush years that you could boost ratings by selling audiences on the idea that their liberal neighbors were terrorist traitors. Such messaging worked better by far than bashing al-Qaeda, because this enemy was closer, making the hate more real.

I came into the news business convinced that the traditional “objective” style of reporting was boring, deceptive, and deserving of mockery. I used to laugh at the parade of “above the fray” columnists and stone-dull house editorials that took no position on anything and always ended, “Only one thing’s for sure: time will tell.” As a teenager I was struck by a passage in Tim Crouse’s book about the 1972 presidential campaign, The Boys in the Bus, describing the work of Hunter Thompson:

Thompson had the freedom to describe the campaign as he actually experienced it: the crummy hotels, the tedium of the press bus, the calculated lies of the press secretaries, the agony of writing about the campaign when it seemed dull and meaningless, the hopeless fatigue. When other reporters went home, their wives asked them, “What was it really like?” Thompson’s wife knew from reading his pieces.

What Rolling Stone did in giving a political reporter the freedom to write about the banalities of the system was revolutionary at the time. They also allowed their writer to be a sides-taker and a rooter, which seemed natural and appropriate because biases end up in media anyway. They were just hidden in the traditional dull “objective” format.

The problem is that the pendulum has swung so far in the opposite direction of politicized hot-taking that reporters now lack freedom in the opposite direction, i.e. the freedom to mitigate.

If you work in conservative media, you probably felt tremendous pressure all November to stay away from information suggesting Trump lost the election. If you work in the other ecosystem, you probably feel right now that even suggesting what happened last Wednesday was not a coup in the literal sense of the word (e.g. an attempt at seizing power with an actual chance of success) not only wouldn’t clear an editor, but might make you suspect in the eyes of co-workers, a potentially job-imperiling problem in this environment.

We need a new media channel, the press version of a third party, where those financial pressures to maintain audience are absent. Ideally, it would:

not be aligned with either Democrats or Republicans;

employ a Fairness Doctrine-inspired approach that discourages groupthink and requires at least occasional explorations of alternative points of view;

embrace a utilitarian mission stressing credibility over ratings, including by;

operating on a distribution model that as much as possible doesn’t depend upon the indulgence of Apple, Google, and Amazon.

Innovations like Substack are great for opinionated individual voices like me, but what’s desperately needed is an institutional reporting mechanism that has credibility with the whole population. That means a channel that sees its mission as something separate from politics, or at least as separate from politics as possible.

The media used to derive its institutional power from this perception of separateness. Politicians feared investigation by the news media precisely because they knew audiences perceived them as neutral arbiters.

Now there are no major commercial outlets not firmly associated with one or the other political party. Criticism of Republicans is as baked into New York Times coverage as the lambasting of Democrats is at Fox, and politicians don’t fear them as much because they know their constituents do not consider rival media sources credible. Probably, they don’t even read them. Echo chambers have limited utility in changing minds.

Media companies need to get out of the audience-stroking business, and by extension the politics business. They’d then be more likely to be believed when making pronouncements about elections or masks or anything else, for that matter. Creating that kind of outlet also has a much better shot of restoring sanity to the country than the current strategy, which seems based on stamping out access to “wrong” information.

What we’ve been watching for four years, and what we saw explode last week, is a paradox: a political and informational system that profits from division and conflict, and uses a factory-style process to stimulate it, but professes shock and horror when real conflict happens. It’s time to admit this is a failed system. You can’t sell hatred and seriously expect it to end.

Matt Taibbi is one of the only people I subscribe to. He’s one of the few journalists I like because I actually believe he’s genuine.

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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A Road to Somewhere, Chapter 3 (Adore Delaska) - Puppy

Chapter Summary: Adore meets up with the infamous Grand Witch and finally gets that job! But at what costs?

A/N: Happy belated Halloween and Samhain to all who celebrate. It’s Halloween when I’m submitting this my time, but it’ll be November when it gets posted. I figured the sentiment was still nice. Anyway, I figured a good thing to ring in the holiday was yet another story of spirits and witches.

This chapter is surprisingly longer than I thought it was going to be, but it was still nice to write. Thanks again to @chaoticnachokitten and @thackeryisatop for beta-ing.

I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 3

TW: emotional abuse.

Adore found herself in a smaller storage room; it was probably a loading dock in the past. She passed by a small sink with a towel on a hanger. It was probably Raja’s whenever they decided to leave their post. Wrapped boxes and jars still had tags on them, and there were a few planks of wood and coils of rope neatly placed nearby. She didn’t have much time to take everything in though; there was somewhere she needed to be sooner than later.

Rio knew what she was doing; she looked like she went through this route for years. “The Grand Witch lives way up at the top, in the back of the house.” She said, beckoning the human to follow her down this path.

Following suit, she was led to an entrance marked by large moving gears. Adore looked up, admiring the mechanisms for a short second. There was a myriad of pulley systems, presumably enchanted as well, that made her severely underestimate how tall and large the bathhouse really was. It seemed endless, but perhaps that was the point. Not everyone could visit a witch who claimed to have such high esteem. Two elevators moved along the wires: two metal cabinets labelled on the outside. She didn’t have too much time to wonder about that, though.

“Get over here! We don’t have all night.”

“Coming!” Adore shook herself out of her state of awe and ran into another elevator where her guide was. It was a smaller wooden lift that didn’t have a door or proper walls, but it was made up for it being surrounded mainly by stone. There wasn’t any risk of her falling out any time soon. The redhead clung to the back wall (more like the back piece of plywood, if she could be more accurate), staring as it went farther up the bathhouse.

“You wanna lose your nose, kid?” She was pulled back by Rio’s forceful grip, and she thus threw her arms around the older spirit. “Hey, what are you doing?!“ Rio questioned.

"Aaaah! Sorry,” Adore answered, backing away from the older woman.

The elevator passed through many floors, and the human couldn’t keep track of what was going on on each one. They all reeked of opulence; this witch practically owned everything. The railings and beams supporting the house were made of cherry red wood with ornate gold carvings. The hardwood floors were barely even noticeable from the amount of workers who were there. She could never really tell how many of them were on said floor since they all blurred together. Some were carrying trays of food, or were they herbal soaks? Maybe some were pushing a dolly of some substance. The world was passing right before her eyes; plus her view was partly obscured by Rio’s body, hiding her from any suspicion.

The lift eventually stopped, letting Rio and Adore off on a higher floor. They faced a hallway of painted floral walls. Empty woven containers rested on yet another wall; they almost looked like birdhouses, but could easily be taken apart to build a nest of sorts. Above the walls, were small golden plates, also painted with flower arrangements. This witch must really like her flowers, Adore pondered as she started skipping on the hardwood. She didn’t have time to take in every little detail; hopefully her new motions would make her go faster. The loudest sounds the two could hear were their own footsteps. “So…” she attempted to start some conversation, “how long have you been here?”

“Hell if I know.” Rio continued, wanting to bash her head into one of those walls. Being part of an escort mission was the last thing she wanted to do today. “And watch your volume. The point of this is not to get discovered, remember?”

The human covered her mouth for a bit as they passed by chefs in dark, cone shaped hats and face masks preparing a kind of banquet. Some ladled soup into small red bowls while others placed cherry tomatoes in black bowls. There were off-handed comments and complaints about how it wasn’t spicy enough or how it was going to get cold before they could serve it. Adore nearly wanted to dive into the buffet for whatever she liked, but she found herself turning the corner and into yet another elevator. Thankfully, they were able to make it in before it closed, and before the woman who exited noticed their presence.

“We’re about halfway there. Just… stay close, y’hear?” The woman with the raccoon-like eyes pulled down a lever and up they went.

“Uh… party.” She smiled awkwardly and retreated to the back of the lift. This elevator was a little different as one part of the back wall wasn’t solid stone. It acted as a window to another part of the house. It looked like a series of tubs with guests destressing in its waters, but she couldn’t make out many details. Her vision was shrouded with a blanket of steam. Before she could take in anything more, the elevator stopped on another floor. The two of them were not as lucky this time.

A rather large patron was standing in front of them. From further inspection, he seemed furry with two large tusk-like appendages dangling from his face.The only articles of clothing that it wore were a large red bowl for a hat and an equally red loincloth on his torso. He looked at the worker and the invasive human pensively. Rio’s face grimaced at the sight of another spirit who desired to use the lift.

“Welcome…” Rio gasped and forced a toothy smile on her face as Adore slinked behind her. “What can I do for you?” The radish spirit didn’t really respond; he grumbled as he slowly pointed a finger upwards. “I’m sorry, sir. This elevator is out of service. Can’t go any higher. Have to take another one.” She maintained that smile as she walked out of the elevator. As soon she couldn’t see the spirit, her smile dropped. “Glad that’s taken care of,” she whispered when she was out of earshot. As they continued on, Adore swore she heard footsteps, but didn’t want to say anything just yet.

The two made their way onto an arched bridge, and it was then the redhead was starstruck by the interior of the bathhouse. The floral patterning was not confined to that one hallway, as it seemed to decorate many other parts of that floor. She looked down, getting a better glimpse of what she saw on the elevator ride. There definitely was a series of tubs, and she could make out some of the figures on that bottom floor.

The ducks from earlier fit in one of the larger tubs, but there were more than she had seen before. Did they multiply like gremlins? Never mind that; there were more interesting sights than large ducks overflowing a pool. A worker in a blue kimono gave an antlered spirit a massage, while two others were filing some oblong entity’s nails. They massaged and pampered these creatures to their heart’s content.

As soon as the two stepped off the bridge, the two women turned a corner. Adore looked back, the radish spirit leering back at them from where they just left. “Rio, I think he’s following us…” She whispered, pulling at Rio’s free arm.

“Quit gawking. It’s rude.”

The human quickly whipped her head back forward and sooner than later they found themselves in front of an elevator. Rio pressed the button as Adore squished herself between the corner and the spirit in front of her. The radish spirit finally caught up to them, staring at the door in earnest; his undulating chest directly in Rio’s line of sight. Anyone around him could hear his breathing. She closed her eyes and turned her head the other way. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to rest. The elevator doors opened, but it wasn’t full, much to her surprise.

Three monsters in fluffy white bathrobes stepped out of the elevator with a frog-like worker following behind them, escorting them to their rooms. He wore a white and blue version of what Rio was wearing and was about as tall as her too. The frogman stopped his conversation, sniffing his nose as he turned around looking his coworker dead in the eyes. “Rio!” He barked.

Surprised, and annoyed at being discovered, she pushed Adore into the elevator and plastered that retail smile back on her face. “What is it?” she asked through gritted teeth. The radish spirit followed the young girl into the elevator, clearly not aware of her existence. Or perhaps he was and he refused to say anything about the intruder’s presence.

“What’s that smell?” The frogman sniffed his nose again and widened his eyes, “Aha! A human! You reek of human!” Adore turned her head and sniffed herself; was her odor that strong? Yes, she hadn’t showered since the morning, but not everyone needed to point it out.

“Never would have guessed.” Rio retorted.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Come on! Spill!”

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out the newt Raja had given her. “Is this what you’re looking for?” She dangled it in front of his face.

The frog’s mouth watered at the sight of it, moaning out of hunger. “Give me that!”

His attempt was thwarted by Rio pulling it out of his grasp. “Well, I was gonna share this with the other girls. But since you asked so nicely…”

“Please? At least a leg! Just a leg will do!”

She kept pulling the newt farther and farther away, sometimes shifting her position to get it out of the man’s grasp. “If you wanna go up,” Rio instructed, “just pull the lever on the right.” Adore gave a thumbs up from her currently cramped state and managed to pull the lever from the ends of her fingertips. The last thing she saw before the doors finally closed was her guide popping the roasted lizard into her mouth, as one final act of spite.

The elevator ride was a little uncomfortable; one could easily cut the awkward tension with a butterknife. Adore took it upon herself to study more of her companion’s appearance. He had curly green hair… or was it leaves. He was called the “radish spirit”, so was he one? Or did he just look like one. Hell, this isn’t the strangest shit I’ve seen today… She pondered as she stopped herself from paying attention to the radish spirit’s dad bod.

The first floor the lift stopped at wasn’t the floor she needed to be. It was mostly empty hallways with pairs of sandals neatly decorating the hardwood. There were many shadows behind a series of patterned changing screens. Was this some sort of sleeping arrangements? Before Adore could think about exploring the place, the radish spirit realized this wasn’t the floor he was looking for, pulling the lever yet again. The human huffed a complaint. On the other hand, there wasn’t any time to explore; she had somewhere important to be.

After the awkward detour, the elevator finally stopped at the first floor. They both stepped out and scanned the area. If the scenery of the bathhouse didn’t stun her enough, then this top floor definitely did. This floor screamed wealth and was even more opulent than the floors she traversed earlier. Instead of the hardwood, the two were standing on some sort of marble with other colored tiles neatly placed in pretty patterns. Surrounding the middle sat large expensive vases accentuated by architecture embossed with more floral patterns. Adore let out a breath she never realized she held as her widened eyes soaked in all of the intricacies. The radish spirit stepped back into the elevator, bowing to her before the doors closed.

She quickly bowed back and was alone yet again. She wearily walked down the hall, her breath loud and her shoulders practically to her ears. The girl nearly flinched as she heard the echoes of her own footsteps. I should have asked Lask before this shit happened… she thought, playing with her sleeves. This needed to be over with soon. How hard could getting a job be? She stopped at a small staircase and looked up.

Two bright red doors stood before her underneath a bird-like crest embossed with the symbol she saw earlier that day. There was something off about the right door, though. As she approached that door, she took careful watch of the knocker. It was engraved with the face of a woman, but not just any woman. She seemed to be the bird woman who patrolled when she first met Lask. Come to think of it, the crest looked vaguely familiar too, but that had to be a coincidence. Adore grabbed the handle and started to pull, but she was quickly stopped by an unseen voice.

“Well, aren’t you going to knock?”

She flinched back as if she had just touched a hot iron.

“Gods, you’re honestly the most pathetic thing I’ve seen all day!” The voice continued. She sounded mature for her age. Was that the Grand Witch she had been looking for? After insulting the human, whoever was speaking must have made a decision to pity her. The door opened by itself, revealing more doors that opened in sync. The hallway that stood before Adore was fascinating. There was a small chandelier in every little intersection, like every hallway in front of her had been Xeroxed multiple times. “Don’t be shy, you can come in.”

No matter how inviting the woman sounded, the human was still starstruck. She shook and clung to her shirt, but not out of fear. Or at least that was what Adore wanted to believe. She was thirteen; she shouldn’t be afraid of things anymore, or at least things as silly as a jumpscare.

“I said, come IN.” Adore felt something slowly tugging at the front of her shirt. She pulled back, but she stopped for a bit. The tugging quickly came back, grabbing at the collar and yanking her down the hallway at an impeccable speed, about the same speed when she tripped on the stairs. Doors seemed to close as soon as she entered them, and as soon as there weren’t any more doors, the force sharply turned its subject around the corner. She barely had any time to take in any more intricate patterns. For all she knew, she was floating across a sea of garnet and gold. The invisible grip let her go as soon as she went through a last set of doors, throwing her down and letting her fall face first into the patterned red carpet.

Sitting herself back up, the human caught her breath, tempted to hop on one of the two plush red armchairs that surrounded her. The fireplace crackled, causing Adore to jump a little bit. She looked around the room a little more until she caught the gaze of a woman working at her desk. If she was the Grand Witch Visage, she wasn’t like anything the girl was expecting. The woman was a lot younger than she first expected, but not too young. She seemed practically old enough to be her mother… or at least a mother. She had well-defined cheekbones and a sharp chin. Her dark hair was up in a tight bun, while the top of her chest practically spilled out of her dress as she was working on some sort of paperwork. Her bony fingers picked up the pen and continued her writing. “Oh good, you didn’t break anything,” she barely noticed the human in front of her. Then again, the room always had a thin layer of smoke surrounding everything. “That’s more than I expected from you.”

The human brushed off her shorts and cautiously approached the woman. “Hey…umm… Please give me a job.” The witch simply stared at her for a split second, then returned to her work. With every movement of the pen, she felt something strange. Adore attempted to speak again, but as soon as she took a breath, her mouth was slowly closing, like some invisible seamstress sewed her lips together. Upon that realization, she quickly panicked, trying to force her mouth back open with as much force her fingers could allow, but it was merely in vain. Brute strength was nothing against a witch’s spell.

“There… much better,” Michelle smirked, continuing her work and avoiding eye contact with the shaken human. “You open your mouth for one second and you’ve already said too much. Especially with that request of yours. Get you a job… This isn’t the place for a human. This is a bathhouse, where eight million spirits can rest their bones.” She placed a small bag of gold in a coin box with her free hand as she continued her rant. The witch stopped for a moment and set her pen down, picking up a long cigarette in its holder instead. She twiddled it around, clinking with the many rings adorning her fingers. She then stopped and stared directly at Adore. “Your mother had some nerve, didn’t she?”

Adore’s brow furrowed; anger started coming to her in a slow boil. If circumstances were normal, she would be throwing a punch towards the woman’s direction, or she’d pull out a knife. However, all she could do was just stand there and take this beatdown.

“Now my customers are hungry and it’s all her fault. It’s a good thing in time that she’ll be next on the menu.” Michelle continued, her voice dripping with venomous honey. “Wait a second,” she lit the cigarette with her fingers and took a drag , blowing some smoke in the human’s general direction. “It’s not entirely her fault… It was yours!” Her jaw would have been on the floor by now. “You could’ve stopped her. You could have even avoided entering this realm… but you didn’t. And now you can’t go home! Now what do you have to say about that?”

As expected, there was only muffled nonsense coming from the human’s mouth. Adore was practically shaking at this point: mostly out of fear and panic. Neither of them could have known that this land was sacred. Logically, it couldn’t be her fault, but why was she believing it? Was that… monster just that persuasive?

“Just as I thought…” She tapped at the holder, a few ashes piled onto the table. “You’d make a good piglet. It fits with that body of yours… or maybe a lump of coal. That way you’ll be useful for once…” The Grand Witch laughed seeing the human’s now frazzled state, blowing another cloud of smoke. “You’re trembling… Actually, I’m impressed you made it this far,” she spoke with a twinge of sincerity, “but I know you couldn’t have done it alone. Someone had to have helped you.” She slowed down her speech slightly as if she was talking down to a child. Then again, for all she knew Adore could have been a young child; Michelle stopped caring about age a long time ago.“All… you have.. to do… is tell me… who… it… was….”

Adore let out a heavy breath when the witch finally broke the enchantment on her lips. She balled her fists. “I just want a job here.”

“Again with this, aren’t you done with th-”

“PLEASE! I JUST WANT A FUCKIN’ JOB, GODDAMMIT!”

“SHUT UP!” This angered the witch further as the pile of paperwork began to flutter around her as she tensed up. Shortly afterwards, she shot herself into the air and knocked her things off the desk. Michelle Visage landed directly in front of Adore, intimidating the teen. She forced her to make eye contact, towering her body over her. “Why should I hire you?! Anybody with half a brain can see that you’re a whiny, foul-mouthed, lazy, spoiled crybaby. And stupid to boot.” Her long nails dug into the girl’s chest with every insult. “There’s nothing here for you. This is a HIGH CLASS business, and I have all the lazy bums I need.” She then moved behind the frightened woman. “Or maybe… you’d like the nastiest job I’ve got, and work

you until you breathe your very last breath. How does that sound?” The witch asked, walking her fingers along Adore’s arm until they reached her neck. As she was about to apply more pressure, the room began to violently shake.

The contents of her desk, plus a candelabra atop the fireplace, crashed onto the carpet. Michelle stopped and stood back as she heard the cries of a child from within the room. Momentarily forgetting about the human nuisance, she rushed to the other side where she was met by splinters from the door nearing her face. “Stop that,” her voice showed genuine concern and passion as she poked her head in through the door hole. “What’s the matter, baby?” She was met with a large foot kicking her face. Chunks of green painted wood ended up in her bun. “It’s okay… Mama’s here…” After attending to her child’s needs, she turned back to the human, her demeanor turning 180 degrees. “What are you still doing? Can’t you tell this is a private moment?”

“YES, BUT I WANT A JOB. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR?” Adore yelled over the various other sounds in the room.

“Be quiet! You’re scaring the baby!” She turned back towards her child, continuing her baby voice. “Hi, sweetie. She’ll be gone soon enough. Don’t be mad.

“I’ll leave your office if you give me a job.” She smirked, not moving an inch..

Michelle sighed, comforting the baby one last time. “It’s okay.. Mommy will be with you in a bit.” As she entered, the contents that had been knocked over slowly floated back to their respective places. Adore waited for the business to be over with, tapping her foot impatiently. She knew she won in this situation. Her mom was gonna be saved soon enough. How bad could this be?

The witch returned, pulling planks out of her hair as a pen and empty piece of parchment found Adore’s hands. “That’s your contract,” Michelle explained as she returned to her desk, “just sign your name, and I’ll put you to work. And if I hear one little complaint out of you, you’ll be joining your family in the pigpen.”

She nodded in response and stared at the contract, squinting her eyes to see if there was anything funny about it. If there were any added things about turning her anyway, she was going to be more than disappointed. This girl didn’t care if she was a middle-aged woman, she’d punch the living daylights out of her. “So… I just sign?”

“Yes,” Michelle responded.

“Right there?”

“Yes! Quit wasting time. It’s almost like you don’t want this job with how you’re dilly-dallying…” Upon that remark, Adore kneeled down to find a flat surface to sign. “I can’t believe I took that oath. ‘Give a job to anyone who asks’…” Michelle mocked as she fixed a crooked lampshade and turned on that light. “She should be lucky I’m so nice… Are you done there?” As soon as Adore lifted the pen from the parchment, it flew into Michelle’s hands. “Perfect. So, you’re Adore Delano, yes?”

She nodded her head.

“Lovely name for someone like you.” The witch placed a hand over the paper. The human could only gasp as she saw what happened next. Most of the letters from her signature floated from the paper and into Visage’s open fist. She grasped the letters as a smirk stretched across her name. “From now on, your name is Red… You understand that? That’s easy enough to remember, right? You’re Red now. Answer me, Red!”

The sudden change in tone made Ado- Red jump in her place. “Y-yes ma’am…” For the first time that day, she hesitated. She straightened her posture and held her arms closer together, holding back things she shouldn’t be feeling until a familiar voice made her happier.

“You called for me?” Lask had entered the witch’s quarters seemingly unnoticed. Red wondered how much of the interaction she had seen.

“Yes,” the Grand Witch responded, “this child is starting work as of now. Set her up with a job.”

The other spirit nodded her head, turning to the human with a solemn look on her face. “What’s your name?”

Red quietly gasped. You know me… why are you acting like a narc, lady? She wanted to say that, but she had her life and humanity on the line. “It’s Ad-” She stopped herself mid-sentence. “Red. It’s Red.”

A moment of silence broke between the two old friends… or were they ever friends. “Follow me then.” Lask commanded for the newest hire to follow. They kept the silence as they walked down the halls again.

As they entered the elevator, the silence still continued. The human’s puppy dog eyes brightened. They were alone now! Things could get back to how they were. She then broke the eyes “Lask! I am so fuckin’ happy to se-”

“Don’t talk to me unless it’s something important.” Those words lashed at Red. “And address me as Madame Lask.”

Red refused to say anything more as she slumped along one of the lift’s walls. This ride somehow felt longer than all of the other ones.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #alaska thunderfuck #bianca del rio #michelle visage #adore delaska #supernatural au #spirited away au #lesbian au #a road to somewhere #puppy #tw emotional abuse #concrit welcome

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tttinytrash · 5 years ago

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(Another skelesnake, I’m on a roll with them as of late. Most of the headcanons associated with how they work is still lifted from Shamedump, cause they’re neat. My demiromantic, ace ass found a lack of platonic noms, but if you wanna take this as a budding romance I won’t stop you. And I was also using this as an experiment with second person POV, since I’ve never used it. Anywho, I’ll shut up and get to the story.)

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God, you hated retail.

You let yourself plonk heavily into one of the cheap patio chairs provided in the break room, pulling out your phone. You glanced around the room as you wrestled your phone out of your pants pocket, and made the mistake of locking eyes with Jerry.

Every retail store has one. The one worker that’s slow, lazy, and all around a pain. No one ever knows how they keep a job but there they are. That’s Jerry. A spindly, older man that was made all the more bitter by never escaping retail, blaming everyone else when he was clearly the problem. You were saved an awkward conversation by the new hire walking in.

Well, slithering to be more accurate.

Sans was a naga skeleton. Monsters had been reintroduced to humanity a few years back. Thank God the laws were finally in place and the monsters’ citizenship finally granted after a legal battle that took far too long in your opinion.

Jerry’s open sneer proved he was aligned with those who had fought to deny that citizenship. Sans ignored you both (as he tended to ignore everyone unless specifically asked.) and went to his locker. He left right after, but Jerry leapt at the opportunity to talk to you since you were freshly alone again. Damnit.

“I can’t believe they let that thing work with people.” Jerry spat. This wasn’t the first similar sentiment you’d heard. Especially not from Jerry.

You tried to stay out of it, hoping your lack of engagement would shut the racist up.

No such luck. “The thing can’t even do it’s damn job! Can’t use a forklift, why do they let it stock shelves?! It’s a burden!”

“HE,” you put obvious emphasis on the proper pronoun, “uses his magic instead. He works alongside everyone else just fine.” You feel the anger boiling, especially after last week’s incident where Jerry nearly ran over Sans’s tail with said forklift on “accident.” (Not that corporate would do anything without “sufficient proof.”) You realize you’ve already said too much and try to bite your tongue.

“It shouldn’t be around people in the first place! Our ancestors sealed them away, why don’t we do it again?”

That does it! “My God Jerry, get a life. All you do these days is bitch about monsters. They’ve done nothing wrong! They’re people who just want to be left alone to live their lives, and I can’t believe you’ve taken up such issue with that. If you don’t like monsters so much, just leave them alone! Because I’m sure they’d all be happy to not have to deal with you, I swear!”

You feel the adrenaline wear off, and look back at a stunned Jerry. You decide that’s enough of a break, and storm out of the room.

As you exit, you see Sans on a lone patio chair out in the hall. Guess he was taking his own break, and elected to steer clear of Jerry. You feel the blush on your cheeks like fire as you immediately wonder how much he heard of your snap. You shuffle past in a rush and nearly trip when you hear Sans voice a casual “thanks.”

You stop long enough to look back to see him looking at you with a small smile, throw him and awkward one of your own coupled with a rushed nod, and continue your shuffle away back to the sales floor.

God, what’s HR gonna do with you?

-----

HR didn’t do much.

Not that that’s surprising, in retrospect. Jerry and you both got called in, given a verbal slap on the wrist, but neither one got a write up.

While that outcome was anticlimactic, you did get a positive result elsewhere. Sans had started talking to you at work, and eventually you two exchanged numbers. Nearly a year later, you were hanging out outside of work. It was a nice friendship you two had going, and you guess you had to thank Jerry for it, which was ironic.

You were both at your house, playing a video game together. It was a Co-Op game you both had interest in but no one else to play with, so this wasn’t the first time he’d been over for a gaming session. You both laughed when you fell off the stage and died, but the mirth was cut short by the power cutting out.

“the hell?” Sans voiced, conjuring a glowing red bone to cast at least some dim light into the dark room.

“Lemme see.” You respond, pulling out your phone. You check for scheduled outages or weather notifications. “Crap. The snowstorm that was supposed to brush by changed course. Whiteout.”

“welp. guess i’m sticking around, eh?”

“Yep. If you think I’m letting you leave in a white out you’re batshit. I’ll grab some blankets.”

-----

You’d decided to sleep downstairs to be a better host, and Sans had insisted you take the couch. He had a pillow nest on the floor using literally every pillow and plushie you owned save the one you were using. He swore he was comfortable in the pile, so you two had grabbed every blanket you had and divided the hoard in half. Both sufficiently burritoed against the chill settling into the house with the heater down, you tried to sleep.

You woke up who knows how long later, freezing.

You were shivering, and evidently the blankets and fuzzy PJs hadn’t been enough. Your toes were numb when you checked, but Sans seemed ok when you glanced over.

Maybe grabbing your heavy winter jacket would help. You got up to go hunting by the light of your phone but whirled around at the sound of abrupt motion behind you.

It was just Sans, he’d whipped up from his spot and had summoned a bone in his hand, looking around wildly before his eyelights settled on you. “jeez, kid.” he breathed in obvious relief. He let the bone disappear.

“Sorry, I thought I was quiet.”

“ya were. i sleep light, old habit from underground. couldn’t sleep?”

“I’m freezing my ass off. Well, more my toes. I was gonna grab a jacket. You doing ok temperature wise?”

“all good. perks of being a skeleton. in fact, c’mere.”

He adjusted a spot in his nest, looping his coils to leave a loose circle of tail.

“Y-you want me to lie there?” You ask, teeth already starting to chatter.

“i’m warm, you ain’t. seems obvious.” Sans shrugged, gesturing to the space he’d made.

You gingerly lay yourself where indicted, and he closes his coils around you loosely, then tosses the blanket over the both of you. You thank him, and apologize when he flinches away from the touch of your icy extremities. He brushes off the apology and instructs you to make sure to keep them in contact with the glowing red magic of his tail. You reluctantly do so after a bit feeling comes back as pins and needles, but you do feel better. You try to sleep again.

But can’t stop shivering enough to actually slip into sleep.

Eventually, after a few more apologies and the realization that you won’t be able to sleep the rest of the night settles in for both of you, Sans seems to have an idea. “kid, you trust me?”

“Yeah, why?”

“i have a solution. it’s no biggie for nagas, or it was at least before we were sealed away. quickly figured it ain’t so much for humans.”

“Now I’m curious. Spit it out.”

Sans laughed, “heh. more of a pun than you know.”

You just look at him confusedly.

“i could swallow you, kid.”

You tense up. “What?”

“relax. told you, it’s normal for nagas. before the underground, we’d do it with our kids or heal friends and family that way. shit, it’s even part of courting in the right context.”

“...And this context would be?”

“a friend is fuckin cold and i can help is the context, kid. unless you’re cool with not sleeping.”

You hesitated. “This is safe? You’re sure?”

“i did it to paps when he was a babybones, and he’s still around. been awhile, but yeah. it’s safe.”

You fiddled with your hands. You did trust him, even if your instincts were revolting at the idea of allowing yourself to be eaten. No, this was a stupid debate. You knew you were being irrational. You took a breath before nodding. “Ok. Let’s do it.”

Sans uncoiled from around you, and you found yourself already missing the heat. At his request you sat up straight in front of him, and gave him your hands. He guided them into his mouth, and you flinched when your fingers brushed against his tongue.

He let you flinch away, and waited for you to make the first move to start again. Shaking just a bit, you laid your hands back in his mouth. Given this go ahead he used his hands to guide them farther back until you felt the back of your hand touch what felt like a throat. How did a skeleton have a...?

You didn’t really complete the thought as a swallow drew your hands and upper arms into his gullet, and you were brought face to face with the monster. His jaw popped and unhinged, and he guided your head to duck under his sharp teeth and follow your arms into his maw.

He swallowed again and your head was now in his throat, and that sort of felt like the point of no return. Oddly, that brought a sense of calm over you rather than dread and your curiosity came to the forefront. The material around you was warm and fleshy like his tail, but just like his coils it didn’t quite feel “right” for flesh. It was slicker and almost felt like a heated waterbed with a thick rubber or silicone membrane.

That train of thought also died at another swallow, and now you could feel your hips balancing on his teeth. You were spared the spikes of his fangs by what seemed to be his tongue laid over them, which you were grateful for. His skull tilted back, and you sunk deeper into the tight confines. Simultaneously, your hands felt an even tighter squeeze before the pressure let up completely.

Another swallow above and you were pushed down past that same tightness before being released into an open chamber beyond. A final gulp and your legs joined you. You heard a deep breath around you, apparently that had taken some effort. You felt like you should be scared, but despite the adrenaline you felt more numb. Maybe it was just the dregs of fight or flight? Anyway, you used your heightened senses to take in all the stimuli around you. It was wonderfully warm, and the air was easily breathable. The area was more open than his esophagus for sure, but your body filled most of the available space. You used some of your limited movement capabilities to lightly push at the wall, to find it was pliable to pressure and your hand sunk in. It was slick and almost felt wet, but you could tell that your body was in no way damp. You felt Sans press in over the space your own hand was pressing out, and the odd numb feeling dissipated into calm.

“you ok in there, kid?” Sans finally asked, voice both close and muffled.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You were right, this is much warmer.”

“heh, told ya. aight, i’m gonna get comfortable myself.”

You felt movement around you, but it was brief. He seemed to coil back up in what was probably the nest and then movement ceased. You’d pulled your hand back when he’d started moving, but now curiosity had your palm back out, running it along the wall as a test of texture.

Red made an odd growling sound, and you clenched into a ball in reaction. “What’s that?” You ask in mild alarm.

“sorry, just me. couldn’t help it, ...that felt nice.” Sans answered, the latter half pretty reluctantly.”

“This?” You clarify, running your fingers down the wall in front of you again.

Sans didn’t verbally answer, but that growl came again.

“Are you... purring?”

“you ain’t gonna make me say that, are ya?” Sans sounded desperate and mortified, and you couldn’t help but laugh heartily.

“yeah, yeah. get your laughs in kid.” Sans says with a chuckle, and you both seem happy for the newfound levity in such an odd situation (for you at least).

“What? You want me to stop?” You tease and rub at the walls more.

“shut up, you little shit.” His insult held no real bite, and only drew a giggle from you.

You let him off the hook though, just letting your hands explore around you. He seemed happy to concede the banter and just enjoy the quiet, and after a little time under your ministrations the tissue got softer under your hands. It seemed he was actually relaxing, which was gratifying.

After a bit the purring hitched as Sans yawned, and you surprised yourself by yawning in reply. Oh right, it was the middle of the night.

“you ok to sleep?” Sans asked.

You nod, before realizing your mistake and instead calling “Yeah, I am.” You pull your hands back again and adjust to a comfortable sleeping position. “Thanks, again.”

“don’t mention it kid. night.”

“Goodnight.”

You drift to sleep in record time, warm and safe.

#more effing vore shit of course #blame shamedump ok they're cool and totally at fault for this whole naga thing #undertail vore #clean vore #safe vore #soft vore

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segenassefa · 5 years ago

Text

2: On Consumerism, Fighting Demons, and Societies Inevitable Collapse

Quarantine has been lowkey surreal. My constant complaint of never having enough time to do all the things I want/should be doing has now left me bored in the house, bored in the house, bored with nothing but time to get said things done. However, it is a dual edged sword - with the collapse and subsequent reformation of civil society outside my doors, it leaves me wondering – as well as a lot of other people – in the words of Miss Juicy…what the hell we gone do now?

Nearing the end of the first leg of my university career, I should be thinking about getting ready to transition to the next logical stages of adulthood - saving for an apartment, applying for permanent residency, as well as graduate schools and part time jobs. Yet, I’m worried about if these things will even be a possibility within the next month, six months, or even the next year.

On top of ALL of that, the recent BLM protests and the way that people (read: white people, Latinxs, Black men, homo/transphobes, etc.) have shown their asses the past few months is beyond mortifying - especially regarding the treatment of black women and how our value as individuals as well as a collective to society is really perceived.* This is not to downplay the murder of numerous black men in society, BUT who the fuck is riding for black women aside from other black women? And not just the ones who find attractive, or are racially ambiguous, or the ones you feel as if you get “guilted” into supporting and demanding justice for, I mean each and every black woman. I’m just saying, it gets pretty disheartening to feel like the legwork of the revolution is on the back of one category of people, and that your value to society is measured by the amount of emotional labour you’re ready to do for others, or how fat your ass is (but I digress…).

I feel like most people have used material things as coping mechanisms instead of actually facing their feelings and dealing with the things that bother them. Just think of the number of packages that have arrived on your doorstep the past few months. Breaking the glossy seal of packing tape is similar to therapy, until all the boxes are open, and you start feeling like shit again. And now, more than ever, there’s a lot to be bothered about. Western society has dedicated phrases based on the phenomenon of substituting true self-work with figurative emotional bandages (Phrases like comfort eating and retail therapy come to mind).

It’s nice to think that we – the people entering their adolescent and young adult years – will be the one to change these things, but suddenly it’s 2 am, you have twenty different things in your Amazon cart, (who the fuck needs a metal straw cleaning kit?) and you’re trying to see how far you can stretch and grab your debit card before falling off of the bed.

The conflicting messages pushed by society don’t help all that much either. If you look up “Kondo method” or “decluttering my closet” on YouTube, the numbers of videos that come up is astounding. Pages and pages of sweaty-faced, smiling YouTubers monetizing from this kind of faux “minimalism” only to post haul videos a few days later because “I threw everything out and now I have to rebuild from scratch sksksk!”. Does this not just perpetuate a cycle of buying and throwing and buying? I am....confusion, to say the least. Still I watch them, because I’m a hypocrite, and am also easily amused.

I will be the first to admit I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with money, with self-image, and with measuring my self-worth in proximity with “stuff that stems from a complicated relationship with physical self. Follow along:

Growing up, I was a fat kid. We don’t even have to sugar coat it. Think Terrio, but better eyebrows and more hair. Except I was not killin’ em, just myself. I always envied my friends who were able to go shopping at regular stores – read: Hollister, Abercrombie, Urban Outfitters (yes my friends were white), meanwhile I was condemned to shopping in the women’s department.

So, to compensate, I would buy trinkets – things like nail polish, lip gloss, journals, you get the point. My proximity to worthiness was measured not by the things that I bought, but within the act of buying. Growing up with parents who were also financially frugal also altered my relationship with money and blessed me with crippling buyers’ remorse after every purchase, even on things that are important (read: groceries).

But as a kid, buying “stuff” was fun for me – it gave me some sort of purpose, and the acquisition of things (even if they weren’t the same things my peers had) made me feel like, to some extent, I could compete on the same playing field. As I got older, and I started to have real expenses, I moved towards second-hand shopping. I would religiously find myself at Goodwill on weekend, after school, or with friends. I could literally feel an endorphin rush when I would find something that I would consider a “good deal”, and it made me feel (again) purposeful, to be spending money, even if I didn’t need whatever I was buying.

I should also add that the people in my immediate family does not believe in thrift stores (“Why am I working for you to wear other people’s clothing?”, I remember my dad asking me one day), so the act of second-hand shopping was also my form of rebellion.

I began to amass a collection of clothing that would put Kylie’s closet to shame. I began buying things for events and situations that were yet to happen, for other people, for when I lose ten pounds. It was a madness.

In freshman year of university, I had an unhealthy relationship with clubbing clothes. Did I have the figure for clubbing clothes? Absolutely not. The funnier part is, I couldn’t even go clubbing because I wasn’t 19 at the time. And yet I had drawers and drawers full of the stuff. Not to mention that clubbing clothes is incredibly similar to summer clothing and living between Minnesota and Canada meant that these things were barely seeing the light of day.

The moral of this was – I could never figure out my relationship with stuff, This quarantine has forced me to try and break down the compulsion behind my behaviour. I felt like I was spiralling the six weeks that they closed thrift stores, and I knew myself well enough to not try and online shop with the same kind of frequency as that. But the crazy part was, I didn’t die. I didn’t go into withdrawal (ok, I did a little bit, but whatever), and I was able to take the time to go through the things I already owned and find some hidden gems that were routinely buried in the cracks and crevices of my closet. It was like the episode of Family Guy when Peter realizes he has a vestigial twin – alarming and cool at first, but then it’s just alarming and annoying.

Its more embarrassing to realize that some semblance of myself image is tied to the frequency with which I am able to spend money. I would never say that participating in capitalist society gives me some kind of purpose as a black woman because God forbid. Also, considering that a lot of big names companies are actually racist and fatphobic as hell creates a whole new dimension for analyzing the power of my black dollar, sometimes creating another spiral of guilt leading to you guessed it – more spending.

As much as it seems like it, however, this self-reflection was not in vain. In the past month, I’ve cut down my closet from +200 pieces of clothing and shoes to about 40. If you ever want a fun, humbling activity this quarantine, just clean out your closet and be honest with yourself about how often you wear certain things. It was revolting to see the number of shirts, dresses, pants, skirts that I had bought and convinced myself wholeheartedly I was going to wear, only to pull them out of my closet months later with the tags attached *insert Marge Simpson covering her face meme*.

But at the end of the whole ordeal, it felt really good to look at my space and not feel burden or guilt. It was somewhat philanthropic realizing that not only will these clothes make someone else happier (I donated pretty much everything because it’s not always about money), but that my quality of life was not dramatically impacted in owning (or not owning) certain things. The past few weeks, I’ve spent more money on going out and sharing experiences with friends, but still nowhere near the same amount of money I would have spent buying clothes and other material possession.

Youtuber Kelly Stamps has a video on how minimalism “cured” her depression**, and the whole thesis boils down to the idea that owning less things gives you less to compare yourself too, thus making you happier (in a sense) and allowing you to focus the energy and time that would have been centered around maintaining and building your collection of possessions other things.

This still doesn’t break down the root of the issue, but it’s a start. I think when you have traits or patterns that you’ve participated in for so long, it becomes hard to step back and be objective enough to realize that you – yes, you – are part of the problem. I can blame my habits on a lot of things but at the end of the day, it’s important to realize that certain cycles seem never-ending because I actively choose to participate in these kinds of behaviours (accountability is sexy, huh?). While I’m not ready to face all my demons quite yet, it’s easier to do it with a nice wardrobe and a streamlined sense of mind.

Notes

*When I say black women, I mean ALL black women. Not some limited, cis-gendered, heteronormative view of what a woman is. Over here we ride for all those who identify as women.

**She emphasizes that she doesn’t actually means that it cured anything, but rather helped with her anxiety, and in turn, helped with her depression.

Links

That Family Guy Episode

The Kelly Stamps video

#cms #selfhelp?#consumerism

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laniidae-passerine · 5 years ago

Text

See, the big problem with Hitch is that he talks a lot about himself, but it’s near impossible to tell if he’s lying or not.

So, I’m going to collect information about him from the books that I think is either most definitely true or could possibly be true. Any other information I’ll discount as a lie or impossible to tell if it’s true, and I won’t write it down. Reminder that I don’t own books 2 or 3 and there are spoilers! below. Let’s begin!

Look Into My Eyes

He’s first described as basically a knockout stunner who walked out of almost everyone’s dreams. And so was I just not supposed to love him? Unrealistic.

“But when Ruby answered the door she was surprised to see a remarkably handsome, rather tall, formally dressed man. He was neither particularly young nor would he ever be considered in any way old - in fact it was impossible to really put any accurate age on him.” [page 46]

He’s apparently a man of culture, because he instantly knows what designer Sabina is talking about in regards to her jacket.

“‘Well it is an Oscar Birdet, maybe they felt a little out their depth?’” [page 51]

While he’s obviously very good at his job, he’s not so humble as to not be pleased with himself. He knows he’s good at what he does.

“Ruby looked up to see the amused face of Hitch. He looked kind of pleased with himself, which irritated her.” [page 55]

He’s surprised by just how observant Ruby is, clearly underestimating her right out of the gate.

“‘I’m surprised you noticed (my arm injury).’ And he was surprised too; he thought he had concealed his arm injury well.” [page 56]

Even a man of taste can’t help showing off, and it seems like every guy with enough money lining his pockets likes a nice car, as indicated by his colour choice in convertible.

“‘Well that might explain the flashy car - he’s got this silver convertible.’” [page 62]

He knows a stylist?

“Hope you approve. Had my stylist friend Billie pick these things out for you - she’s good at that kind of thing. Hitch.” [page 81]

He doesn’t have a peanut allergy, lucky him.

“He looked up, startled, and immediately began to spread it with peanut butter. ‘Toast?’ he said.” [page 81]

I am physically aching with how much Lauren Child loves to remind us how hot Hitch is - give us a break, or else I might cry with how good looking he is. But just in case you forgot, let’s remind ourselves about how Hitch is the most attractive man alive! Also, he’s got brown or hazel eyes, Mrs Bexenheath hasn’t decided yet.

“Mrs Bexenheath, the school secretary, looked up to see at what first glance she imagined to be some Hollywood film star. It was as if he had accidentally strayed off the ‘walk of fame’ and wandered unwittingly into the shabby halls of Twinford Junior High - so entirely out of place was he. However, this handsome man struck up and easy conversation with her and before a minute had passed Mrs Bexenheath had found herself agreeing to excuse Ruby Redfort from all lessons for the foreseeable future. She had concentrated carefully, all the while staring into his Hollywood eyes, wondering if they were brown or were they hazel.” [pages 105 and 106]

He knows he’s so attractive that he can just make stuff up and like Ruby, he’s one hell of a liar.

“‘Well, it seems that your grandmother had contracted a rare but not infectious virus while bird watching in the Australian Alps - condition, serious,’ Hitch said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘There are no Australian Alps,’ said Ruby. ‘Well someone should have told your grandmother that because now look at her.’” [page 106]

Hitch doesn’t know shit about children or teenagers until he meets Ruby, and that’s a goddamn fact.

“‘Buzz, give the kid a little tour of the gadget room,’ said Hitch. ‘That’ll keep her out of trouble.’ He was wrong about that.” [page 110]

Now for the moment that made me think he was cute when I reread the books as a teen - he’s not above messing with people and enjoys a good joke now and then.

“‘OK,’ said Hitch, holding his finger to his temple as if he was channelling the information. ‘I’m guessing... chocolate raspberry, strawberry frosting, rainbow sprinkles - am I right?’ Elliot, speechless, handed over the donut.” [page 148 and 149]

And the moment that made me realise I adored him. God yes he’s very handsome and yes he’s got money and yes he’s a secret agent but I’d trade all of that, just for a guy who admits when he’s been stupid. And somehow he can do that while also having and being all of the above.

“When he (Hitch) came in he said, ‘Look kid, maybe part of this is my fault, I accept that, I’ve been kinda ribbing you and talking down to you - so maybe you and I need to start over?’” [page 171]

He likes some of the finer things in life.

“Back at Cedarwood Drive, Ruby went downstairs to find Hitch, who was sitting in his small but comfortable apartment, listening to music and reading some papers.” [page 178]

He’s a charmer, obviously.

“It occurred to Ruby that Consuela was rather over dressed for this task, the stiletto heels and painted fingernails seeming to be more of a hindrance than a help. She was also laughing rather too much [at Hitch’s jokes], that sort of random giggling that certain girls at Ruby’s school broke into whenever Richie Dare walked past.” [page 181]

I don’t actually think he’s assigned to Spectrum 8 - he’s apparently not a Twinfordite or based in California as he implies when he’s about to leave the Redfort house,

“‘What is it? I got a plane to catch in less than,” Hitch looked at his watch, ‘seventeen minutes.’” [page 294]

He’s got a temper on him, and can get angry rather quickly if someone’s done something stupid.

“As he drove, Hitch thought about Ruby. He was about as angry as he had ever been. What on earth had gotten into the kid?” [page 297]

He doesn’t like Froghorn a the beginning of the books and also he’s the sick in the stomach guilt kinda guy.

“Hitch was feeling horrible - the kind of guilt that causes nausea. Why hadn’t he listened, he never should have let LB assign that numbskull.” [page 328]

He owns a gun and I’d assume it’s Spectrum issued.

“You tell him kid, hissed Hitch, his hand reaching for his revolver.” [page 378]

I can’t say for sure, but I have this feeling that he and Nine Lives were kinda close in the way that you must be if you’re continually trying to kill one another. (I’ve always thought of her as being smart enough to be a Spectrum agent but always refusing Hitch’s offers to join when they were younger, and he finally gave up when she started recreationally killing but that’s just my personal head-canon!) Anyway, her death has him feeling some kinda way.

“(Valerie) looked up at Hitch. ‘You killed me?’ she said as she slid to the floor. In her left hand the diamond revolver glittered, a pool of crimson forming where she lay. For just a second the three figures were frozen. Hitch had so many times fought Nine Lives only to watch her somehow leap to her escape - wounded but always alive. Could it really be over?” [page 381]

Feel the Fear

What does Hitch fear? LB? Death? Bears? No. He fears the most dangerous thing of all - meter-maids.

“Ruby looked up to see a tall, well-groomed man in a well-cut suit standing in the room. He appeared moderately anxious. ‘Am I making you nervous?’ asked Ruby. ‘The only person making me nervous is the meter maid on 3rd Avenue where I’m double-parked.’” [page 26]

He’s a trustworthy guy, so not just all stunningly good looks then.

“That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut. He had to: 𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘙𝘜𝘔 𝘙𝘜𝘓𝘌 1: 𝘒𝘌𝘌𝘗 𝘐𝘛 𝘡𝘐𝘗𝘗𝘌𝘋. as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.” [pages 28 and 29]

He loves Ruby, most definitely, like some kinda surrogate agent dad but by god how did he end up here?

“So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as a bodyguard to a thirteen year old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.” [page 29]

It’s implied he’s never worked an actual real job in his life - obviously or else he’d have the worn down look of everyone who’s ever had to take a job in retail.

“‘No Redfort, not really, at least I doubt it, but they might fire me.’ ‘That would suck,’ she said. Hitch nodded. ‘Yes it would. I’d have to go and get a real job.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m sure my parents would keep you on.’ ‘Yes,’ said Hitch. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’” [page 50]

He never sleeps. He never looks sleepy. All a man born in 1930 knows is coffee, play his clarinet, not sleep, be bisexual, work as an agent and lie.

“Didn’t matter what time of day or night, Ruby had never caught Hitch unprepared, asleep or even on the brink of dozing off.” [page 131]

He has the dad act down to the “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” voice.

“At that exact moment Hitch’s voice was the best sound Ruby had ever heard, even though it in fact sounded sort of furious. He wasn’t shouting, which made it worse, his voice heavy with disappointment, his expression telling her that at that very moment he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her breathing but was relieved that he hadn’t had to pick up the Ruby-shaped pieces.” [page 176]

He is apparently knowledgeable about French Antique furniture, specifically that of the 1700’s.

“Clancy led Hitch to his mother’s dressing room and Hitch surveyed the damage. He winced, ran his fingers over the wood. ‘Pear and walnut, made in the French provinces.’ He opened the drawers and examined their construction. ‘Circa 1727, very typical.’ He looked underneath the table top; found what he was looking for. ‘Surprising.’ Then he took a magnifier from his bag, held it over the damaged wood of the table. ‘A quality piece.’” [pages 210 and 211]

Listen, when I said he had money, I wasn’t joking. To misquote somebody, I don’t love him cause he’s rich, but it sure doesn’t hurt.

“Hitch took a fat wodge of twenty dollar bills from his wallet, peeled off a large number and handed them to the guy in charge, shook them all by the hand and watched them leave.” [page 211]

Hitch implies he’s attracted to women, but that’s not news to us because he’s obviously bi, duh.

“‘I think someone just tried to kill me.’ ‘You’re looking at the next guy in line - I just happened to be having dinner two blocks away with a very charming meter maid.’” [page 322]

He’s got a vaguely recognisable aesthetic.

“Ruby knew the Charles Burger, and upmarket burger grill place, with green leather banquette seating and polished wood tables. It was very Hitch somehow.” [page 366]

He can do parkour. It’s amazing.

“‘Let me explain.’ Without warning, Hitch ran. He was across the parking lot in the blink of any eye and headed straight towards a high brick wall - but he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow his pace, he ran at the wall and then up the wall, and when he got to the top... (insert long description of very cool parkour antics)” [page 372]

I literally do not understand how this handsome superman type of guy is single. How?! HE CAN JUMP BETWEEN WHOLE BUILDINGS!

“The crowd gasped as the woman flailed in the sky, and then they gasped again to see a figure in all black fly across the spotlight’s beam to snatch her from the dark.” [pages 478 and 479]

Pick Your Poison

Nobody knows an actual fact about Hitch and it’s very painful.

“‘When it comes to Hitch, I think it’s hard to know what’s true. You think you know him but, look at it this way, what do I really have as hard evidence? Do I know anything?’ ‘You know he likes coffee,’ suggested Clancy. ‘What I know Clance,’ corrected Ruby, ‘is that Hitch drinks coffee and a lot of it, but does he drink it because he likes the taste of it or because she need to keep from falling asleep? Well, it’s anybody’s guess.’” [page 31]

In case you forgot, because it really doesn’t get said often, Hitch is very attractive.

“She didn’t immediately spot Hitch. He was browsing chickpeas: a tall, good-looking man, wearing an elegant raincoat over a dark suit.” [page 60]

Dad jokes!

“‘Isn’t this a bit inconvenient?’ said Ruby. ‘I mean, having to walk through a store every time you want to reach Spectrum?’ ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘It’s a convenience store.’” [page 60]

This isn’t really a fact about him, but this part always makes me laugh so here we go.

“Hitch, who was standing behind Ruby, was trying silently mouth something to SJ and making a sort of cutting motion with his hand as if to say ‘stop talking’, but SJ wasn’t reading this and instead was making it abundantly clear that she was marking this incident up as attempted murder.” [page 228]

The amount of sass contained within one man... legendary.

“‘Kid, don’t you worry about your mother, I got that covered. I have someone watching her, just a precaution.’ ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Ruby. Hitch looked heavenwards. ‘He’s a professional, you’re not meant to notice.’” [page 228]

This quote is pretty self explanatory.

“‘So who’s the Aikido master?’ ‘That would be me,’ said Hitch.” [page 250]

He does in fact like coffee!

“‘Same place,’ said Hitch. ‘I only told you Lucello’s because the coffee’s good.’” [page 348]

We get a rare moment of Hitch actually chilling out and eating food!

“Hitch was there, eating a Digby club sandwich (a Mrs Digby special) and he raised a hand in greeting when she walked in.” [page 393]

Even secret agents want their downtime, and are prone to laziness.

“‘You couldn’t fix it yourself?’ ‘Sure I could,’ said Hitch. ‘It’s a simple case of replacing the valve, which if I’m looking at it correctly is a 3/4 inch ceramic. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ [page 394]

He’s capable of getting shouty when he’s being told he can’t do his job properly.

“‘You didn’t have any traffic,’ said Ruby, angrily, ‘you came by helicopter, and by the way I radioed for assistance more than forty minutes back.’ ‘Well, that seems unlikely since we got no call.’ They were almost shouting at each other now.” [page 476]

Just like I mentioned with Blacker, it seems Hitch contributes to some of the dark humour at Spectrum 8.

“Hitch: ‘You don’t have to convince me, you should see the state she left Baby Face in - or rather I should say, states.’ Delaware: ‘How do you mean? Where is he now?’ Hitch: ‘Well, he left his heart in San Francisco.’ Blacker: “His head was found in Monterrey.’ Hitch: ‘And his legs have yet to show.’ LB: ‘Excuse me?’ Blacker: ‘He’s a goner.” [page 503]

Blink and You Die

Both Clancy and Ruby trust their agent dad.Also, I feel like Hitch is actually the closest thing to a dad that Clancy has, because his actual dad sucks, and that just gets me.

“‘So you’re going to have to talk to Hitch. You trust him, don’t you?’ ‘A hundred per cent,’ said Ruby.” [page 96]

He’s notable for his on-time nature.

“She sat down. All the seats around her were unoccupied and there was no sign of Hitch. Mr Punctuality appeared to be late.” [page 103]

Although I think he might be lying, it seems like Hitch enjoys stargazing.

“‘I like that place,’ said Hitch. ‘The planetarium?’ ‘Yeah, like I said, I find it soothing.’” [page 108]

He’s sincere enough to convince LB to do things she doesn’t really want to and he’s got Ruby’s back to the end.

“‘Hitch has persuaded HQ that it would wise to keep up the survival skills. He seems to think you need all the protection you can get, and though you are no longer a functioning field agent or coding agent, after much consideration, I am persuaded he is right.’” [page 113]

He’s got non-verbal cues that indicate when he’s pissed off - they’re minor but they’re there.

“They talked together got a few minutes, all perfectly fine until Hitch appeared to notice something - perhaps it was to do with Froghorn’s attire, it was hard to say from this distance but Ruby recognised the subtle change in body language and knew that he was not happy, not happy at all.” [page 180]

He’s been seriously injured before in his life, and why was nobody paying attention to these goddamn children, holy hell Spectrum dropped the ball on this one.

“While this drama was unfolding, so another was taking place - the screams of a boy who had apparently fallen into the shallows, but managed somehow to scrabble onto one of the rafts. He had incurred a life-threatening from a fifteen-foot crocodile, but he was lucky - his cries had alerted rescue and he was dragged from the river before he could be taken by the reptile. The boy suffered severe shock and could not be questioned about the incident.” [page 235]

I think that his name suits him well, but jeez, imagine looking at your baby and giving him this name.

“The second, the boy who was almost swallowed by the crocodile, was named as Art Hitchen Zachery.” [page 236]

He is not immune to the upset looks of Sabina Redfort.

“‘I’m afraid I’m expected elsewhere,’ said Hitch, glancing anxiously at his watch. ‘Oh no, really?’ exclaimed ‘Sabina. She looked so forlorn that Hitch found himself saying, ‘You know what, how about I stay for the starter - it really looks too good to miss.’” [page 260]

His birthdate was 1930!

“‘Just how old do you think I am?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby, ‘fifty-five... fifty-seven.’ ‘Kid, I’m forty-two.’ He shook his head. ‘Boy, never ask a kid to guess your age; they’ll always have you pegged at just shy of decrepit.’” [page 290]

I don’t even know what to caption this, except that he’s able to burst into hysterics. Also, he went with other Spectrum agents to Disneyland, which is adorable.

“‘Are you kidding?’ He began to laugh, really laugh. In fact, he laughed so hard that he didn’t look like he was ever going to stop. ‘What?’ she asked, annoyed that she wasn’t in on the joke. ‘That picture was taken at Disneyland,’ he wheezed. ‘He was made of rubber. Kid, you might to get a new pair of spectacles.’” [page 291]

More dad jokes!

“‘I’d love to, kid, but I’ve got places to be.’ As the doors closed shut, he called, ‘See you later alligator!’ ‘Funny,’ muttered Ruby, ‘real funny.’” [page 291]

While the revelation of Bradley being alive is a huge thing, Hitch still has time for sass.

“Ruby: ‘I’ve only seen two picture of Baker and in neither one did he have this whole wild man of the woods deal going on.’ Hitch: ‘You mean the facial hair?’ Baker: ‘It’s just a beard for crying out loud.’ [page 336]

He can play poker!

“By the time Ruby decided to turn in for bed, Sabina, Hitch, Bradley, Brant and Mrs Digby were settled in for a long night of poker.” [page 348]

The title of butler doesn’t sit great with him.

“‘He’s some butler,’ remarked Brant. ‘Honey, Hitch is a house manager,’ corrected Sabina. ‘He doesn’t like to be called butler, he’s very particular about that.’” [page 350]

He’s this close to dying and he’s still throwing out the snappy comebacks, what a guy.

“The Australian: ‘Of course. But try to refrain from doing anything stupid.’ Hitch: ‘What would add up to stupid?’ The Australian: ‘Any sudden movements; that wouldn’t be smart sweetie.’ Hitch: ‘I’ll try keep my nervous twitch under control.’ The Australian: ‘I’m impressed by your common sense.’ Hitch: ‘I’m impressed by your gun.'” [page 388]

He’s a real personality - the kind you miss badly when he’s not around.

“Thing moved like clockwork in the Redfort home, every household issue was attended to, and though no one was aware of it, their security was monitored and every safety procedure followed. But life seemed dull without Hitch.” [page 429]

He has a permanent scar from the crocodile incident.

“‘Wanna see the bite? It’s ugly, took an awful lot of stitches to put me back together.’” [page 509]

And those are all the facts I’ve found that we didn’t already know/ are relevant about one Art Hitchen Zachary! I omitted the other 700 paragraphs where we get reminded yet again that he’s very handsome, and still he is the most amazing man!

#rr #ruby redfort #art hitchen zachary #hitch #me reading all of this is just *heart eyes*#im loveeee #if ya man isn't like this do you even want a man at all?#anyway #agent blacker #lb #bradley baker #byd spoilers #blink and you die spoilers #blacker #miles froghorn #clancy crew

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

To Keep It All The Year (3 /4)

Anyone up for a spot of pure fantasy in which people are essentially good and their positive actions are rewarded with deserved happiness? Yeah, me too. It’s been a WEEK, for me and @katie-dub and anyone else in the UK with a conscience and a shred of human decency, so let’s all have a bit of an escape.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One | Part Two

Thanks as ever to @thisonesatellite who keeps me fuelled with whisky and lebkuchen, a paring ordained by the gods, and also because MAGICAL WREATHS OMG WUTTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @teamhook

PART THREE: THE FUTURE

Killian moves out of his apartment that very afternoon. He can’t bear to spend another moment there. He needs a fresh start in a new place, one that will encourage him to be better rather than indulging the worst of him.

Everything he owns, every single thing, fits into a large satchel and a medium-sized suitcase. Packing it all takes less than an hour. Killian drops his key into the landlord’s mailbox and heads across town to a guesthouse he found with a quick internet search, not a great place but his finances are limited and it’s still better than that apartment. There’s an actual bed, for a start, and part of him is tempted to crawl into it and drink until his chest stops aching and he no longer sees the crushed look in Emma’s eyes each time he closes his own, but he has made promises to himself and he intends to keep them.

So instead he falls back on the least damaging of his old crutches and heads out for a walk. The guesthouse is a bit rough around the edges but the neighbourhood whose western boundary it marks is a vast improvement over his old one. There’s an elegance and dignity in the slightly run-down buildings here, like they’ve aged gracefully and in comfort without any of the desperation and squalor that characterised his old place. They’ve kept their head up, even through hard times, and they haven’t given in. A lesson lurks in there somewhere, he thinks.

He’s been wandering for about half an hour when his attention is caught by a door. Not a particularly remarkable door, but has a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it which brings a smile to Killian’s face. Something about those little wreaths always draws him in, he thinks. Something he can’t quite put his finger on...

The door is made of wide wooden planks painted a deep forest green and boasts an old-fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. It belongs to what appears to be a small bookshop, and as Killian pushes it open he feels a stirring of eagerness that he hasn’t felt in years. He can’t remember the last time he read a good book. Something layered and complex, he thinks, with a well-crafted world that he can dig into and lose himself for a while.

The shop is surprisingly spacious, with row upon row of tall wooden bookshelves lined up straight as soldiers along its walls and a broad central aisle leading to the till and a small cafe at the back. Twin spiral staircases rise up on each side to a mezzanine where he can see more shelves and a cosy reading area with overstuffed sofas and armchairs and a few scattered beanbags of the perfect size for children. Killian walks slowly down the centre aisle, aware his mouth is hanging open and barely resisting the urge to spin around, gaping in awe. Were he asked to give a description of his ideal bookshop it would be precisely this, he thinks, from the aged patina on the shelves to the fluffy grey cat curled on a cushion in the window, to the truly dizzying array of books. It is magnificent.

“Can I help you find anything?” Killian shakes himself from his reverie and turns to see a petite brunette in towering heels smiling a friendly smile.

“Ah, no thank you, lass,” he replies, “I’m just br—you know what, actually, yes. You can.”

He explains what sort of book he’s after and the woman—Belle, according to her name tag—leads him around the shop in search of it. She makes excellent recommendations, a fair number of which he’s already read, but after an enjoyable hour or so Killian has a small armload of books he can’t wait to crack open and perhaps, he hopes, a friend.

After he pays for them he and Belle stand at the till for another ten minutes or so, chatting amiably. Killian formally introduces himself and informs Belle that he’s just moved to the neighbourhood and is out exploring. He’s just about to ask if she knows a good place to eat when he spots the small sign taped to the cash register.

“Are you hiring?” he says in surprise.

“I am. I could use an assistant three or four days a week,” says Belle. “You interested?”

“I might be,” Killian replies. He’ll need a job to afford the new life he intends to build for himself, he thinks, and working in this lovely little shop with Belle would be a dream come true.

“Any retail experience?” she asks.

“None. But I’m a fast learner and fairly widely read.”

“I’ll say,” says Belle wryly. “Okay, let’s give it a try. I can start you on—” she names an hourly wage that has Killian’s eyes widening.

“Is that the standard market rate for a bookshop assistant?”

“Nope.” Belle’s voice is cheerful and also makes it clear she doesn’t intend to answer any questions on the subject.

“Er—okay. Well, that would be more than satisfactory.” Enough to give him the new beginning he needs, he thinks. More than.

Belle nods. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?��

“Perfect.”

—

Belle lives above the bookshop, in a two-bedroom flat that she claims can get a little lonely. She claims this a week into the new year when she learns that Killian is looking for a place to live, and insists on showing him the spare room that very minute.

Her flat is tidy but comfortable and the room she shows him plainly furnished, with polished hardwood floors and plaster walls painted a warm ivory. A large chest of drawers takes up one corner and in another is a metal framed bed spread with a quilt that he’s sure is handmade. There’s a single wide window framed by soft yellow curtains that turn the afternoon light golden and a single framed poster on the wall, of Waterhouse’s Miranda. Killian stares at the painting for some time, thinking it should probably upset him. Instead he feels soothed, by the room’s gentle simplicity and by the shipwreck safely tucked away in the brushstrokes of an oil painting. He moves in the next day.

He and Belle get on splendidly. Their habits mesh in a comfortable way, both being meticulously tidy early risers, equally content to spend their evenings in heated argument about books as in the silent companionship of reading or watching television. Killian almost wishes their easy friendship could develop into something more, though it does occur to him that he’s never had a woman as just a friend before and perhaps this is a thing that might do him some good.

That and he still dreams of soft golden hair, and green eyes that see into his soul.

He begins to eat regular healthy meals, sharing the cooking duties with Belle, and after a month or so of that he joins a gym. He still goes on his long, rambling walks but far less frequently than before, using them as an opportunity to explore new neighbourhoods rather than a desperate attempt to escape his demons and he never, never stops at the docks.

He also starts seeing a therapist, on Belle’s gentle suggestion after one too many nights of being woken up by his nightmares. She can recommend one personally, she confesses, for the very same reason that she is able to pay him so well. The bookshop is financed by hush money—she spits the words—her lavish divorce settlement from a man who controlled and abused her for years and when she finally managed to leave him tracked her down and nearly killed her. She grips Killian’s hand tightly as she tells him this, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, yet there is a ring of triumph in her voice as she explains how he signed over more than half his assets to her in exchange for her promise not to prosecute, or sell tales of his abuse to the press.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it,” she says. “Maybe I should have exposed him instead, or pressed charges. But he could weather bad press or bribe his way out of jail time while it will take him years to build his business back up again. Decades, even. And meanwhile I have my shop. And my freedom.”

Belle knows as well as Killian does how heavily tainted money can weigh on person’s conscience, and that the only way to bear its weight is by turning it to something good. She’s a survivor, just like him. Just like Emma.

Slowly, so slowly, Killian feels the parts of himself he thought were broken beyond repair begin to mend, and every day he focuses on that healing. He nourishes his body with exercise and good food and he nourishes his mind with books and conversation. He nourishes his soul as well, with his therapy sessions and with the bookshop’s weekly children’s story time, which Belle insists he take charge of after catching him watching wistfully from behind a shelf as she sat surrounded by a semicircle of rapt faces, reading an adventure book.

He was thinking of Henry.

He thinks of Henry often, and of course of Emma. Every time he rambles through a new part of the city he wonders if they are living there, perhaps in one of the sprawling houses with soft green lawns in the residential areas, or maybe in an airy loft in one of the edgier, artier neighbourhoods. He hopes that wherever they are they’ve found a true home of their own, with security and comfort and reliable childcare for Henry. Emma no longer needs to work so she could study full time if she wished, or do something else entirely. She wouldn’t strictly speaking need to do anything, but if Killian knows her—and despite the short duration of their acquaintance he’s quite certain he does—she will want to keep studying, for her own satisfaction and to find a career that suits her. Emma Swan could never be content sitting around all day doing nothing. She would want to do some good in the world, regardless of her personal circumstances. The kindness she showed to a strange man in a bar when she had next to nothing of her own was proof enough of that.

It hurts to think of them but it’s a good sort of pain, a gentle, bittersweet ache that warms his heart, nothing like the tearing agony he felt for so many years whenever he thought of Liam. Thoughts of Emma and Henry inspire him, keep him moving steadily along this new path he’s chosen to tread. Though he’s certain he’ll never see either of them again he wants to live his life in a way that honours his feelings for them.

He doesn’t go back to the bar where he and Emma met, not often. It’s just a place to drink without the magic her presence lent it, and drinking is a thing he’s trying to do less of these days. But the following Christmas Eve he finds himself back in his old neighbourhood standing before the plain brown door. There’s a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it, and Killian knows by now that he’s powerless in the face of those wreaths. He lets it draw him in through the door and over to a stool at the bar where he orders the expensive rum Emma gave him last year and sips it slowly as the memories that infuse the very air of this place both warm and pain him. He’ll allow himself this, he thinks, just this one small lapse. He’s worked hard all year, he can have one evening of self pity. His Christmas gift to himself.

“Hey, sailor.”

The voice is impossible and yet he hears it, turns towards it in astonishment then scrambles to his feet.

“Emma!” he gasps. He stares at her, drinks in the sight of her, of the face that’s haunted his dreams for a year lit up by a bright smile. “What—what are—I had no idea you’d be here.”

“I almost wasn’t,” she replies. “I was at a Christmas party across town, actually. but then I just had the strangest urge to come here and so here I am.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, love.” His astonishment ebbs and gives way to a fierce and fearsome joy. He can’t believe she’s here, right in front of him and real, and so lovely he aches to look at her. “How are you? How’s Henry?”

“Henry’s great. I’m great. We’re great.” She laughs.

“That’s... well, it’s great.” His smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks, but he could no more stop smiling it than he could make the Earth spin backwards.

“It is,” she agrees. “Listen, um, can we sit down somewhere?”

“Of course. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah.” Something shifts in her smile, sharpens it in a way that steals his breath. “I’ll have a rum.”

He orders one for her and another for himself and they sit together in a small, round booth in the corner of the bar. It’s cosy and intimate and it envelops them, making Killian’s heart pound and his mouth go dry.

Emma seems unfazed, giving him a cool once-over as he slides in beside her on the leather seat. There’s a new confidence in her demeanour now, the kind of quiet assurance that forms in people who answer to no one but themselves. It sits well on her, he thinks. Comfortably, like it was always waiting for her to slip it on.

“You look good,” she tells him.

“Um.” He feels himself flush and gulps some rum to wet his throat. “Thank you. You look lovely, but then you always did.”

She observes him in silence for a moment, sipping her own drink. “I looked for you, you know,” she says.

“You did?”

“I did. Do you know how many Killian Joneses there are in the phone book?”

“Er—no.”

“Zero,” she declares. “Including you.”

“Ah. Well I don’t really—”

“But,” she interrupts, “as it turns out, I’m pretty good at finding people, even when they don’t want to be found. I found you, eventually. In that bookstore where you work.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was going to come in but you, ah, weren’t alone. I saw you through the window, standing with a woman. Laughing.” She stares into her glass. “I’d never seen you laugh like that before. Or at all.”

“A woman?” Killian frowns in confusion. “What woman?”

“A really pretty one with long brown hair,” says Emma quietly. “Cute dress, very petite. You looked... close.”

“Belle,” he says. “My boss and flatmate.”

“Flatmate?” Emma repeats with an odd note in her voice. Her eyes flicker up to him then back to her glass.

“Er—my roommate,” he amends.

“I know what a flatmate is, Killian.”

“Ah. Yes of course, I just, er—”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

He’s taken aback by the non-sequitur, and the shy smile that accompanies it. The shy smile and the eyes shining with something that makes his already galloping heart pound harder still. “Well, it’s Christmas Day,” he replies weakly.

“That’s also a thing I know.”

“I was just planning to have a meal with Belle, maybe watch some Christmas movies,” he says. “Nothing special.”

“Why don’t you and Belle come to my house instead? For dinner?”

“Oh, well, I—”

“Come on, you have to,” she cajoles. “Henry would never forgive me if he found out I’d seen you and not invited you. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“He does.”

Killian takes another gulp of rum, emptying the glass. He feels dizzy at this turn of events, almost afraid that they will turn out to be nothing more than another fevered dream. Surreptitiously he pinches his thigh and when he feels the sharp prick of pain he risks a look at Emma. She’s still smiling, that same hopeful, expectant smile he’d been so powerless against one year ago. “Well, I’ll have to check with Belle but I’m sure she’ll agree,” he says. “I’ve—mentioned you and Henry once or twice myself, she’ll be over the moon to meet you both.”

Emma’s smile turns radiant. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address,” she says. He does, and a moment later his phone dings with a new message. Her address he recognises from his rambles as belonging to a part of town that’s nice but not ostentatious, with comfortable family homes and plenty of parks and very good schools. He thinks about Emma and Henry living there and feels a warm glow of sheer delight. It’s exactly what he hoped for, for them.

“I have to get home,” says Emma. “I told Henry’s babysitter I’d be back by midnight. But—you will come over tomorrow, won’t you? About noon? You promise?”

Killian smiles. “You have my word. I’ll see you then.”

—

Belle agrees to have dinner at Emma’s with as much enthusiasm as he predicted, practically dancing with excitement at the prospect.

“The mythical Emma and Henry!” she sings. “I feel like I’m about to meet a unicorn, or Santa himself.”

Killian’s stomach is dancing too, with anxiety and eagerness and hope. Foolish hope, he tells himself firmly, but it ricochets around his insides nonetheless and refuses to be quashed. He walked away from Emma a year ago so she could have the freedom to make her own choices and she chose to find him, to invite him back into her life. He’s not certain quite what that means but he thinks—he hopes— that at the very least he won't have to go another whole year without seeing her and Henry. That thought alone is enough to make his Christmas bright.

As he stands in the shower with the hot water flowing over him he thinks about how very different his life is than it was just a year ago. The fact that his shower is hot and the water plentiful is the very least of the changes. He no longer has nightmares, no longer feels haunted by his past or fears he might be swallowed up by bleak despair. The dark moods still come from time to time but he is prepared for them now, equipped to weather them without turning to self-destruction. He feels healthier than he has since his navy days, physically as well as mentally. His paunch is gone, replaced with firm muscle, and though he’ll never be as ripped as some of the younger men he works out alongside, he’s toned and strong and that’s enough for him. His complexion now has a ruddy glow, especially when he returns from one of his walks, and he’s begun to take more care with his appearance again, keeping his hair trimmed in a flattering style and investing in a nicer wardrobe.

He gets out of the shower and towels himself dry, then dresses in some of his new garments: charcoal trousers and a black sweater over a shirt with a soft tonal pattern, pale purple and blue against dove grey. He wonders what Emma will think of his new clothes, what she will think of all the changes this past year has wrought in him. He wonders if she’s thought of him the way he’s thought of her.

He wonders what he can bring to dinner this afternoon. There’s a bottle of good wine in the cupboard that he and Belle planned to have with their own Christmas meal and of course many things in the bookshop he’s sure Emma and Henry would love. That should be fine for gifts but still something troubles him, an itchy sort of tingle at the back of his mind, like he’s forgetting something vital. What was it that he brought for them last year? He frowns as he tries to remember. The ship for Henry, that was it, and flowers for Emma from that odd little shop, the one with the florist who reminded him of... of...

Bloody hell.

Killian reels, gripping his bedpost for balance as memories from the year before come flooding back, clear and perfect as though they happened only yesterday. It couldn’t be, he thinks, it’s impossible, and how could he not have noticed at the time? How could he not have seen?

Magic, little brother.

“Killian!” Belle raps sharply on the half-open door of his bedroom, her tone of voice suggesting she’s been calling him for some time. “Are you ready to go? It’s nearly half past eleven.”

“Aye, love.” He breathes in deeply and stands upright. “Be right there.”

They go down to the shop where Killian selects several books for Henry, some of which are slightly above his age group—because a child should have a library that builds towards the future—and, remembering the shelves in her old apartment, a picture frame for Emma made of delicately carved rosewood. He wraps them carefully and rings them up on his employee account as Belle calls them a cab. It’s not far at all to Emma’s house but when Killian suggests they walk Belle informs him crisply that while he might enjoy a snowy stroll across twelve city blocks her shoes would not, and takes out her phone.

The quiet Christmas streets make the ride a short one, but Killian is glad of even a few minutes of peace to sit and to think and spends most of the journey staring out the window at the snowy trees and lawns and attempting to sort through the chaos in his mind.

“Why didn’t you put the wreath on the door this year?” he asks Belle.

“What wreath?” She turns to him with a small frown.

“Last year there was a Christmas wreath on the door of the bookshop,” he replies. “A small one, made of evergreen and holly with pinecones and cinnamon sticks and a big red bow. It’s what caught my attention as I was walking by, why I went inside.”

Belle shakes her head. “There wasn’t any wreath, Killian, though that’s a lovely idea. Maybe we can get one for next year.”

“Aye. I know just the shop to get it from,” he mutters, and then the cab pulls up to Emma’s house.

It’s a charming little house, two storeys of dark red brick with slate blue trim on the windows and on the wide porch where comfortable looking wicker furniture and outdoor toys are all jumbled together. There’s a snowman on the lawn, jaunty and quite pleased with himself in his red and green striped scarf and an actual top hat, surrounded by piled-up and solidly-packed mounds of snow and the gruesome remains of what was evidently a long and hard-fought snowball battle.

The mat lying at the foot of the front door reads Welcome! Everything is fine in soothing green lettering and Killian and Belle exchange a grin as they ring the bell. From within they can hear the sound of voices and then the door swings open and Emma appears, looking festive in skinny jeans and a green sweater with the cartoon face of Rudolph on the front, his nose large and round and glittery red. There’s a plastic holly sprig behind her ear and a bright smile on her face.

“Hey!” she says. “Come in! You must be Belle, I’m Emma. You can hang your coats just here.”

They do so, shrugging the coats off and handing Emma the wine and gifts which she accepts with a laugh that holds a touch of surprise. She leads them down a short hallway and into a cosy living room with a plush sofa along the wall and a tall and brightly decorated tree in the window. A fire blazes beneath a wooden mantelpiece where Christmas stockings labeled Henry and Emma still hang, empty now, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbon still cling to the rug in front of it. Killian has just enough time to observe these things before a miniature whirlwind bursts through the door and barrels into his solar plexus.

“Killian!” Henry cries, squeezing him in a tight hug. “Mom said you were coming but I couldn’t believe it. I missed you. Why didn’t you ever come back?”

Killian’s chest feels as tight as Henry’s arms as he struggles for breath and for the words to explain his conduct. “I’m sorry, Henry, I just—I—I had some things I needed to sort out with myself, before I could be good company to others.”

“But you’re here now, right?” Henry pulls back and looks up at him with brown eyes as wide and trusting as ever. “And you won’t go away again?”

Killian hesitates. He doesn’t want to presume, but then again Emma did come to find him. Surely it wasn’t overstepping to say he would visit Henry from time to time? He senses her watching him and looks up, catching her eye with an imploring look. She nods to him and he swallows hard before returning it.

“Aye, lad,” he says, stroking Henry’s hair with a hand that’s not quite steady. “I won’t go away again.”

“Good,” says Henry solemnly, and then his face lights up. “Guess what? I have my own room now!” he cries. “Do you want to see it?”

“I do indeed.” Killian glances at Belle who waves him away. “Go,” she says. “I’ll stay here and chat with Emma.”

Henry’s room has bunk beds with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and an overflowing toy chest in one corner. There’s a small bookshelf as well, with the beginnings of a fine library already on it, and taking pride of place in the centre of the very top shelf is the ship Killian gave him last Christmas.

“I play with it in the tub. We have a tub now,” says Henry when he notices Killian looking at the ship. “Mom made sure we did but she says I can’t play in it every day because I splash too much and take too long, but on Saturdays I can play as long as I want.”

Killian takes a moment before replying. “What else do you like to play with?” he asks hoarsely.

Henry shows off his toys and books and though Killian is anything but an expert in parenting he can see that they’ve been carefully chosen for both fun and enrichment, and that while they are plentiful there aren’t too many for one child to use. Emma hasn’t spoiled him, or herself, despite how easily she could have.

When they head back downstairs they find Emma and Belle laughing together on the sofa, each with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a plate of Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hey!” says Henry indignantly. “I want hot chocolate!”

Emma gives him a stern look and he flushes. “Please,” he adds.

“There’s some for you in the kitchen,” she says, setting her mug down on the table and getting up. “Would you like some too, Killian?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies.

They drink their chocolate and munch their cookies and conversation flows easily and merrily among them. Killian is amazed at how well Emma and Belle have hit it off and Henry is ‘on his Christmas behaviour,’ Emma says with a laugh, sitting on the floor playing with his trains and listening, occasionally piping up with a question or comment. Belle and Killian tell them all about the bookshop and Emma promises to bring Henry there as soon as possible.

“For the story time!” cries Henry, eyes wide at the prospect, and then Belle suggests he might like to open the presents they brought him. He squeals with delight at the new books, and Killian gets so caught up in telling him about them that he doesn’t notice Emma quietly unwrap the picture frame until he hears her soft “Oh!”

He turns to see her staring at it with misty eyes and an expression that makes his heart clench. “I know how you love your pictures,” he says softly. “I remember.”

“Henry, what do you say we find a place for those books on your shelves,” says Belle. “Then maybe you can show me your room and the ship Killian gave you last year?”

She ushers Henry from the room, leaving Killian and Emma alone, staring at each other.

“Emma—” he begins, just as she says “Killian—” and they share a nervous laugh.

“Me first, please,” she says, and he nods.

“Of course, love.”

She licks her lips and takes a steadying breath before she speaks. “When you walked away last year,” she begins, “outside the bank, I was so hurt. I know why you did it—I think I know—but it still hurt and for a while I was angry. I thought—I thought we had a connection, and then for you to just leave like that, I—” She shakes her head. “Well, I tried to forget about you and move on, build this new life for myself and Henry, and I did build it but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All year I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I missed you. That may sound dumb since we only spent a day together, but that’s how I feel.”

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” he says. “I missed you too.”

She gives a small, choking laugh. “I thought you didn’t,” she says. “When I saw you and Belle in the bookstore, I thought, well, he’s forgotten all about you.”

“I definitely did not,” he replies. “I couldn’t. I thought about you too, all year.”

“Really?”

“Oh, aye.” He attempts a smile. “Every day.”

Her eyes are liquid soft and their expression makes his blood hum. “I don’t want to go through that again next year,” she says. “I want to… to see you, and not—not just as a friend.”

“Emma—”

“And don’t say you’re too old! I know that’s what you’re going to say.”

“It is true.”

“It’s not. You can’t be more than what, thirty-four, thirty-five?”

“Thirty-five.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s—”

“But I don’t care about that, Killian. I like your silver hair and that you’ve had experience of the world. Sometimes I feel like I missed out on so much, getting pregnant so young and since then my whole life has been Henry and trying to get through college. And now I have all this money and I know there’s so much I can do with it, and places I can go, but I don’t really know where to start.”

“Love—”

“Not that I want you to be a tour guide or like an adviser or something, I want—fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

Killian realises he’s holding his breath, forces himself to exhale and draw in fresh air. “Emma,” he says firmly, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to have a place in your life, and Henry’s, in whatever capacity you wish.”

“Whatever capacity?”

“Aye.”

“So if I said I wanted you to be my—” she takes a deep breath—“my date for a New Year’s Eve party I’m invited to, you’d agree?”

“It would be my honour.”

“And then if I asked you out to dinner?” she continues. “My treat.”

He laughs. “I know a restaurant I think you’d love.”

“And afterwards? If I invited you back here for some coffee?”

“You do make excellent coffee, I don’t think I could refuse.”

“Then if I wanted to go out again, someplace else?”

“You could choose the restaurant, and I would pay.”

“Then maybe a movie sometime?”

“At the old cinema near the bookshop.”

“And what— what if, after a little while, I wanted to have coffee again in the morning? You’d—you’d stay and have that second cup with me?”

“I would love nothing more.”

She nods. “That’s the capacity I wish.”

She’s so close now that he can count the flecks of gold in her eyes and he realises that her hand is on his thigh and his is on her hip, and then she closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him. He moans and pulls her closer, his other hand tangling in her hair as hers curls around his neck and he loses himself in the taste of chocolate and cinnamon on her tongue and the promise of her lips on his. The promise of a future, their future, together.

There’s a clattering noise of footsteps and loud voices on the stairs and they break apart. Killian leans his forehead against Emma’s, revelling in the sight of her dazed and happy smile, and silently thanks Belle for her discretion. Emma stands and pulls him to his feet, and when Henry and Belle appear she beams at them both.

“I think dinner’s nearly ready,” she says. “Henry, let’s go set the table.”

Belle gives Killian a smirk that’s thoroughly ruined by the delight dancing in her eyes. “You look happy,” she says. “And a bit shell-shocked.”

“Aye, to both those things.”

“And you appear to be wearing lipstick,” she teases, handing him a tissue and grinning at his blush. He wipes his mouth and when he offers it back to her she takes his hand as well.

“I’m so glad for you,” she says. “Merry Christmas, Killian. The first of many, I think.”

Killian looks into the dining room where Emma and Henry are laughing as he sets the table and she lays the food out on it. “Aye,” he says gruffly. “I think it will be. I hope.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #christmas fic #christmas magic #healing #in mind and body and soul #captains swan #captain book #captain cobra #captain cobra swan #there may be a kiss #to keep it all the year #profdanglaisstuff

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