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4fifiandtheflowertots4 · 11 days ago

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The House of the Dutch

PART 1

“My client wants to request one last meeting before the signing of her contract regarding her living arrangements.”

“We've been thinking about that and think we've found a property with a couple other Dutch girls. A meeting can be arranged to confirm the placement.”

The suitcase in your hand feels weighed down by a thousand bricks, and you adjust it to the other hand. You're waiting for a sign to urge you to knock, letting the cold air whip around your shoulders as you build up the courage. It's cold here, not as cold as home you think, but cold enough that you wished you hadn't packed your bigger coat and worn it instead. A final gust of wind pushed you to wrap your knuckles against the door, another shiver shaking your spine. The first thing you hear is a bark, then a strangled meow and a yell in Dutch directed to another person, who yells back. “Viv! Your bloody dog! Tell it to leave kiwi alone or I'm going to banish it from the living room.”

“If your cat wasn't quite so annoying maybe it wouldn't get bitten!”

You hold back a giggle, shivering again as the door opens to a warm face. “Welcome to the madhouse.” the woman greets, gesturing to the floor mat saying the same thing as she had. She then holds her hand out to you. You take it. It's soft, but the knuckles are cracked from the cold. “I'm Dominique - Domi.” Behind her, the squabbling continues and she pauses to take a look and hiss at them in warning, then gesturing to you standing in the doorway. You wave awkwardly, and the younger-looking one bounds over and takes your hand, kissing it like a love-sick teenager. It makes you blush. That's embarrassing, you think.

“Pleasure to meet you, I'm Kerstin - and the grumpy one is Viv.” She turns and sticks her tongue out at the grumpy one. In your head, you count them out. Viv, Kerstin, Dom. Didn't your manager say there would be 4 others? A new face appears at the top of the stairs just behind Dom. The lighting shadows her face perfectly while still highlighting the beautiful cheekbones and jawline of her cheeks. You didn't realise in your staring that she'd made it over to you, holding out her hand ready for you to shake. Kerstin clicks her fingers subtly behind her back, snapping you out from your trance. You blush again and take the 4th girl's hand. “Jill.” She says, and you think her eyes are the most beautiful thing you have seen in the whole wide world. Then you think back to the younger girl standing next to her. You rethink.

All four of them are staring at you, assessing what they thinkuntil you shivering snaps Viv put of the trance. “God! You must be freezing! Come on in. Do you have more stuff in the car?” Overwhelmed by her sudden warmth, you nod a bit blindly and allow Dominique to pull you into the warmth of their house.

You decide instantly your going to like it here, the bright white walls, navy bluepanelling on one of them, bookshelves and sofa and tv and beanbag and games console and armchair and.. 1 2 3 4 seats. Altogether, with the beanbag and sofa and armchair, there are only 4 seats. You look around blindly, you couldn't expect them to buy another seat just for you but you did wonder a little bit where you were to sit. Not everybody will be in the room at once, you presume. Kerstin has walked over and wraps a strong arm over your shoulders. “Staring at our Jilly already? Don't worry, we've all been there.” She grins at you and you blush. “We ordered a new chair for the living room for you, when it got here it was broken already and wasn't fit enough for a princess like yourself. I suppose you'll have to just sit on my lap until we get a new one.” Your blush darkens at her teasing and kerstin winks.

“You have a very pretty house.” You manage, and she laughs again.

“I suppose it’s perfect for- uh- ow! Domi!” Theres a small crash as a pillow gets chucked at her head. You laugh a little at Dominique, who behind her is still imitating what she said. “Leave the poor girl alone, not everybody wants the attention.” Kerstin rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but she does. Look! She's blushing.” You pull the hood of your hoodie onto your head in an attempt to hid the red on your cheeks. Kerstin’s attention turns back to you. “awh, you don't have to hide it, sweetheart. It's cute.” She pulls down your hood and it's then you hear a life saving noise. “Bedrooms done!”

You take that as your escape plan, and squeeze between Dom and Kerstin towards the stairs in the corner of the room. Viv and Jill are both in there, squabbling about how to make the bed and where to place your stuff, however it stops when you walk in. They both send you blinding smiles and pat out the last lumps on the bed. Jill pushes you down onto the bed and nods at the bounce on it. “Is it comfortable?” She asks and you roll about a bit.

Before you can reply though, Viv buts in. “it's the same bed as we've all got, you know whether it's comfortable or not dingwat.” Viv then pulls you up. “How are you liking the house?”

“It's beautiful. There's been a lot of love put into it.” Viv grins at you and you think you're about to melt.

“That would be me. These lot are useless!” There's a cry of outrage from various parts of the house that makes you laugh. “I hope you'll feel very welcome here.” A hand reaches out and squeezes your arm. You kick yourself at the buzz of the butterflies in your stomach. “Right. Me and Jill will leave you alone to settle in. We normally have dinner at about half 6, if you want to come down and help prepare it later.”

Nodding, you allow yourself to wave them out. You collapse on the bed again and reach for your phone in your back pocket and finding the first favourited contact. “Ah! My little girl! How is life away from the nest, my darling?”

“it's good, thank you Mama. The girls are lovely - I just have to meet the rest of the team in a couple days.” Another face leaps into show, not surprised to see your best friend still at your childhood home despite you not being there.

“How's operation ‘fruit salad’ going? Are all the girls as hot as we thought?” You think back to the conversation you had before you left regarding which one of your new housemates you could end dating after she accuses you of being boring.

You laugh at your stupidity. “Yes, they're all as hot as we thought. There's no way girls like that are single - or willing to go out with me.” Your best friend sticks her tongue out of you.

“Boo! You whore. You're hot stuff, you can pull who you want and they're lucky to have you.” You both laugh. “Who looks best do you think? I'm thinking Carmen.. wait.. was it Kerstin?”

You nod. “Kerstin.” There's a knock at your door and you look up, cursing your friends loud voice. “You called?” Kerstin pops her head around the door before pushing it open fully.

“Er. No. Kinda? I was talking to my friend back at home - she was asking questions about who I lived with now.” She comes and sits at the end of your bed and waves at the phone you turned around to face her. Your friend blushes and let's out a nervous laugh. “Anyway, I was already on my way up to ask if you wanted help with anything, or if you wanted to come down and have a chat with us for a bit, you know, get to know us all.” She smiles at you again and your face begins to copy that of your best friends.

“Oh.” Your social battery was quickly running low, and you were trying to recharge before you helped with dinner, so you go for the in-between. “I could do with a hand putting some stuff away? You can ask me any questions while I unpack, and then I'll talk to the other girls when I'm helping with dinner.” You turn back to your phone. “well I have to go and socialise with other people now. I'll message you later?”

“yeah, of course. Here, let me go get your mum before you hang up - she left when we started talking about your love life.” She wiggles her brows at you. Soon enough, your mum comes back into frame. “My little butterfly! Message me before you go to sleep and keep me updated. I must meet these new girls you live with! Spread your wings my darling, love you.”

“Love you too, Mama. Bye!”

You hang up the phone and toss it somewhere on the bed. Kerstin gives you a hand up off the bed and picks up the first bag left abandoned in the corner by either Viv or Jill. “So, we know you're Dutch, I mean, you're fluent so I assume you are. Where abouts did you grow up?”

“Good ol’ Amsterdam.” You smile and she nods slowly. “You're a city girl, cute.” She smiles. “I remember my first time visiting there. We went to this little cafe.. i think it was called ‘A Little Promise.’ The lady who ran it gave me extra whipped cream because I was wearing an Ajax shirt.” She pauses, noticing the look of sheer disbelief on your face. “What? Have you been?”

“You're joking.”

“What? No I'm not.”

“You are, you're taking the mick. You actually went there?” Kerstin looks confused. “Yeah? I remember it well - the lady had a butterfly tattoo on her finger. I saw it and told my mum I wanted one just like it.”

“You're genuinely not joking?”

“no?”

“That's where I grew up. That's my mums cafe. That's my Mama with the butterfly tattoo.”

Kerstin laughs in shock. “wait, actually?”

You reach out for your phone and turn it on so she could see the lockscreen, on it, a picture of the cafe and your mum and you. She bursts out laughing and you join in. “That's so strange!” She breathes out and looks at you through her eyelashes. “I was five at the time. So you would have been 4.” She pauses and thinks really carefully. You begin to open up the bag and pull out the clothes resting on top. “I saw a little girl there when I went. She was sat holding this patchwork bunny and colouring in a picture. My mum told me to wave at her but I thought she too pretty and I got scared.”

You pull out the next thing from your bag. A well-worn, well-loved patchwork bunny with a floppy head clasped in your hand. She turns to face you again and you both fall into another fit of giggles. “I guess some things never change.”

You both continue to put away your possessions, talking about your memories of your home town and your family while laughing about whatever it was slightly tickling your interest. Without even realising, Kerstin had recharged your social battery and welcomed you in the best of ways, pulling on your arm as you were called down to help with dinner. Jill cheered when you appeared in the kitchen, Dominique flashing you a bright smile over her Shoulder from her position over the stove.

“It's chicken and leek pasta bake for dinner.” She says, then she notices Kerstin stood next to you and points to the exit. “I thought I banned you from my kitchen after the last cooking mishap.”

Viv buts in from where she was cutting leeks in the corner. “Our kitchen.”

“Oh come on, Domi! Not fair. It was one time!” Kerstin argued and you look quizzically at Jill who sat on the counter and squeezed lemons into a jug. “Kerstin added the wrong salt to a dish. It ruined the food AND stuck all the chili to the side of the pan.”

“Not to mention I got ill!” Viv pipes up again and kerstin groans. “I promise I won't interfere. I'll just sit and watch.”

Dominique rolls her eyes but gestures as if to give in and let her stay. “One peep out of you and I'll force you to wash up all the pots from tonight and tomorrow's meal.” Kerstin zips her lips shut, then salutes at the older woman.

You join Jill on the counter and watch as the 4 girls work like a well-oiled machine.

Viv starts the conversation. “Do you have any siblings?”

You swing your legs. “Nope. It's always just been me and my mama.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” She apologises, and you frown.

“what? why?”

“Well you didn't mention your father. I assumed he wasn't in the picture anymore, or that he'd passed away.”

You laugh at her bluntness. “He's alive and - unfortunately - still in the picture. However he is the one who payed for all my football growing up so I suppose i should thank him for getting me here. He's always been a bit ‘too busy’ to see me. But it's okay, my mum has always taken good care of me.” She smiles at you from across the kitchen and hands the leeks over for Dominique to put into the pan of sauce.

“Anyone you left behind? Any lovers?” Jill asks from beside you, and you miss the way all 3 of the other girls begin to pay closer attention to your answer.

“Unless you count my platonic soul mate, then no just my mum and her.”

“The one who has a crush on me?” Kerstin wiggles her eyebrows, and Viv turns around and whips her with the towel she was using to take the pan warming in the oven out.

“Not everyone has a crush on you, Kerstin.” Dominique sings, not even bothering to turn around and look at the girl.

“Yeah, but, she does. I waved at her and she started blushing.”

“Ever thought that it could've been because the conversation we were having was embarrassing? Or about you? Maybe it's me who has a crush on you!” You widen your eyes to try and prove your point and hold in your laughter when she starts to consider it.

“Do you?” This time it comes from Jill.

“What?”

“Have a crush on her?” Dominique has stopped stirring the pot. Viv has stopped layering the pasta. Kerstin has stopped swinging her legs. Jill has stopped sipping her water.

“Well no. I just met her, that would be silly.” Then the well-oiled machine keeps moving.

The dish is put in the oven, and all five of you sit on the counters facing each other, talking to each other about random nonsense. Kerstin, who moved to sit in front of you, is kicking her legs into yours playfully like a grounding feature keeping your attention on the other girls.

Your phone rings against the table and you pull it out of your back pocket, a message from your mum lighting up the screen. “Sorry, it's my mum.” You say to Viv, who was cut off by the ring. “Oh, no problem.” She goes to start talking again when the egg timer on Dominique's lap begins to bing, signalling the end of the cooking period. Jill and Dominique leap off the counter, Jill to grab glasses and Domi to pull out the dish. You go to jump off yourself, but instead you find yourself stuck between the counter and a very attractive Dutch woman. “Sorry.” Jill apologises - still leaning over you to fill up the glasses with water from the sink behind you. A hand from the side pulls your shoulder until you fall to the side off the counter, Viv winking at you and then brushing her hands over her own cheeks. She mimes “You're blushing,” Then grabs a glass from Jill, who hands you one too and, like Viv, sends you a wink.

Dominique rolls her eyes when she realises what happened. “God, they're all as bad as teenage boys. Don't worry, they'll get bored and stop soon enough.” You don't know whether you look forward to that or not. “Until then, live up to it. Flirt back. Say things to knock them off their pedestals.” She grins.

A/N: There we go, chapter 1! Any feedback is appreciated <33

#kerstin casparij #vivianne miedema #woso imagines #jill roord #dominique jansen #manchester united women #manchester city women

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taylor-swift-bracket · 7 months ago

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🎇Please reblog!🎇

Notable bridges

(Under the cut)

1989 (Taylor’s Version)

Out of the woods

Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?

Twenty stitches in the hospital room

When you started crying, baby, I did too

But when the sun came up, I was looking at you

Remember when we couldn't take the heat?

I walked out, I said, "I'm setting you free"

But the monsters turned out to be just trees

When the sun came up, you were looking at me

You were looking at me, oh

You were looking at me

(Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet?)

(Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods?)

I remember

(Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet?)

(Are we in the clear yet, in the clear yet? Good)

Oh, I remember

Wildest Dreams

You'll see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Burnin' it down

Someday, when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

You'll see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Burnin' (Burnin') it (It) down (Down)

Someday, when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow (Follow) you (You) around

(Follow you around)

Is It Over Now?

And did you think I didn't see you?

There were flashin' lights

At least I had the decency

To keep my nights out of sight

Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs

And my whispered sighs

Oh, Lord, I think about jumpin'

Off of very tall somethings

Just to see you come runnin'

And say the one thing I've been wanting, but no

Clean

Ten months sober, I must admit

Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it

Ten months older, I won't give in

Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

The drought was the very worst, ah-ah, ah-ah

When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst (Oh)

Wonderland

I reached for you, but you were gone

I knew I had to go back home

You searched the world for somethin' else

To make you feel like what we had

And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad

youtube

folklore

Illicit affairs

And you wanna scream

Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby"

Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else

Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby"

Look at this idiotic fool that you made me

You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

the last great american dynasty

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

And in a feud with her neighbor

She stole his dog and dyed it key lime green

Fifty years is a long time

Holiday House sat quietly on that beach

Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits

And then it was bought by me

hoax

You know I left a part of me back in New York

You knew the hero died so what's the movie for?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

You knew the password so I let you in the door

You knew you won so what's the point of keeping score?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

But what you did was just as dark

(Ah, ah, ah)

Darling, this was just as hard

As when they pulled me apart

my tears ricochet

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood

But you would still miss me in your bones

And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky)

And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

august

Back when we were still changin' for the better

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call

And say, "Meet me behind the mall"

So much for summer love and saying "us"

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

You weren't mine to lose, no

youtube

evermore

champagne problems

Your Midas touch on the Chevy door

November flush and your flannel cure

"This dorm was once a madhouse"

I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me"

How evergreen, our group of friends

Don't think we'll say that word again

And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls

That we once walked through

One for the money, two for the show

I never was ready so I watch you go

Sometimes you just don't know the answer

'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

"She would've made such a lovely bride

What a shame she's f*cked in the head," they said

But you'll find the real thing instead

She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

ivy

So yeah, it's a fire

It's a violent blaze in the dark

And you started it

You started it

So yeah, it's a war

It's the fiercest fight of my life

And you started it

You started it

tolerate it

While you were out buildin' other worlds, where was I?

Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

Now I'm beggin' for footnotes in the story of your life

Drawin' hearts in the byline

Always takin' up too much space or time

You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I

marjorie

The autumn chill that wakes me up

You loved the amber skies so much

Long limbs and frozen swims

You'd always go past where our feet could touch

And I complained the whole way there

The car ride back and up the stairs

I should've asked you questions

I should've asked you how to be

Asked you to write it down for me

Should've kept every grocery store receipt

'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

Watched as you signed your name Marjorie

All your closets of backlogged dreams

And how you left them all to me

Right where you left me

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it

She's still twenty-three inside her fantasy

How it was supposed to be

Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

Breakups happen every day, you don't have to lose it

She's still twenty-three inside her fantasy

And you're sitting in front of me

youtube

#taylor swift #taylor swift poll #poll #my polls #swifties #1989 tv #folklore #evermore #Youtube

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jocelynscrazyideas · 6 months ago

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Champagne problems | Dawson Mercer x Fem Reader

Summary: Dawson and Harper(you) get in a heated argument, but you have a past in being left alone. Dawson makes it up to by dancing in the kitchen at night, and it ends up leading to something else.

Warnings: makeup s*x, unprotected, crying, language, not proof read

PLS NOTE: I don’t think Dawson Mercer would ever LIKE EVER make someone feel this way (and idk why he would get angry abt this but he did so yuhh)

I got kinda lazy towards the end- sorry in advance🫶

You book the night train for a reason

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME HARPER!” Dawson yells out from our room. I hear his Newfie accent pop out. I think it’s so cute. Then. I hear pound stomps from upstairs in our home. He comes running down the stairs. He turns to face me as he scurries over at me.

Dawson throws my phone that was once in my hand and now is on the other side of the white couch, which I was comfortable sitting on. He never screams at me. I’m scared.

I’m scared.

I run for our dog, Mila. I grab our black lab and pick her up. Mila holds onto me as I run up the stairs with her. I don’t care about my phone, I need to lock myself away. I don’t even know what I did. But I’m is I’m terrified.

I dropped your hand while dancing

I run into the bathroom without a word said. I hear soft foot steps walking towards the bathroom. It’s not just a bathroom, it’s the place where we would take baths together, or when I get to drunk and he would hold my hair back when I throw up, or when he would get sick and I would shower with him.

This isn’t a home, not right now atelast. It’s a madhouse.

I’m not ready. It’s been a strong 2 years together, we have never been through a big fight where I felt I was threatened. I’m so scared I hold on to Mila, I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“please, Harper, open up. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. But I’m upset, you pulled out like $200 out if the shared account.” Dawson has a good point to be mad at me. But he has to understand that it’s for bills. I just bought the house, it’s under my name.

“I’m sorry.” I say, and there I go. A tear is shed. Not only one, but it turns into many. I’m now bawling my eyes out. He bangs on the door. I know he’ll get mad if I don’t open the door, but I’m not ready to see him, because I truly feel guilty, but I cannot pay for the bills and in general everything on my own.

“I’m not mad anymore, I’m going to be upset if you don’t open the door baby. Are you hungry?” Dawson says in absolute despair.

My stomach dropped about 12 minutes ago, and I still can’t seem to grab it and put it back in place, my heart is doing somersaults- in a terrible way, not in a lovestruck way, more of a numbing pain. My head is pounding. I hear birds chriping through the bathroom window. I unlock the door taht im sitting against. I let Mila walk out, and I grab air. Then I walk into our bedroom. I open windows.

Love slipped beyond your reaches

And I couldn’t give a reason

Champagne problems.

I change into Dawson’s boxers, they have SpongeBob patterns on them, I picked it out. I throw on my sleep shirt. I tie my hair into a messy high bun, I let my neck hit the cold outside breeze. It’s offseason, Dawson and I are getting ready to travel back to his family’s home in a week. Right now, I’m not sure if I wnat to go.

I hear sizzling from the kitchen downstairs. And the smell of cheese, and toast. Is it Grilled cheese?

“BUBBA?!” Dawson yells out for me.

He walks up the steps with a green plate, and he steps into our room, he sees me against our bedroom wall that faces the entrance of the room. The window is above me, he come towards me. Grabs the grilled cheese and splits it.

“Did you know you look gorgeous.” Dawson says, not in a question format, but more of a statement. He opens my mouth and wipes the tear that had fell from my eye. He sticks the grilled cheese into my mouth and he looks at me, and smiles. I see his toothless corny smile. I love him.

“Come here. Baby I didn’t mean to get at you like that.” He says as he grips onto his blue t-shirt and wipes my mascara away.

“it’s my fault.” I say. I don’t want him to leave me.

We finish eating as he explains how it’s okay to take out money,but he should be able to pay, not that I should sneak the payment. He grabs my hand and he takes the plate that he placed the delicious grilled cheese on and placed it into the clean sink. He turns me around and he’s sits me on the cold counter.

“You look sexy.” He says and again, I hear his newfie accent pop out. I’m head over heels for him.

“In SpongeBob boxers?” I say sarcastically and I laugh away my sadness.

“Yes. Anything that you’re in, makes you extra sexy. And..” he says as he trails off as he nibbles at my neck. He kissed my index finger and trailed up to my left ear. I can feel his stubble.

He pushed up against me, and he kissed me. He then picked me up from the counter and twirled me down to the floor. And he continued to French kiss me. He tugs at my waist as he he tucks his head onto my neck. He’s 6”0 body leans into my 5”2 figure.

“I love you.” He whispers into my ear as he sucks into me, I’m sure there is a big bruise awaiting to be seen by his fellow teammates at holding tomorrow. Dawson is missing a tooth, but he’s still really good at giving hickeys. He starts to sway. Ironically, he starts to humthe words of champagne problems. He’s such a girl dad- not yet.

We dance in the kitchen for like an hour as we just talk. The beautiful daylight blue sky turned into a black sky lit by stars. He grabs me and sits me down on the couch that we met at earlier today.

Mila has her own bed in our bedroom, but for today she sat in her own room that she has in the main level right next to the kitchen. Dawson locks Mila in her bedroom and he sets her asleep with her night time water. He grabs me and carry’s me up the stairs. It’s like we are re-living our day.

He pushed me down the bed. He has one hand on my mid torso. And he slides his hand up, up toward my cleavage. He takes a hold of his SpongeBob boxers and slides them off. He smoothly takes my shirt off. He apply little pressure on my shoulders, an my bra is off my chest. He looks at my breast like it’s the first pair he’s ever seen. His face lits up in an eager smile. And once again I see his toothless expression. He takes my nipple into his fingers and twist them.

My breast is really tender from crying earlier today so I let out a little wince. Dawson looks down at me ready to study every little mark I have on me. He takes his shirt off. In a swft motion his shorts are also off. I see his face black boxers, but it’s accompanied by a large tent in the middle of his legs. He’s getting off by me in pain. Wierd kink.

“Daws.” I say, I’m letting him know I’m ready to take him. Dawson holds my hands up above my head and he opens his boxers, I can’t stop thinking off how that’s where he opens his pants to pee, but I take him in my mouth and he’s steady leaking everywhere.

I lick the tip of him and he screams in excitement.

He’s so easy.

He lets out a sigh as he finished inside my mouth, not letting me do any work.

“Okay pillow princess, show me how it’s done.” Dawson says as he flips me on top of him and we roll over to the other side of the bed. He lays down and he pulls off his boxers. He’s bare, I’m bare. I touch myself as I stand on top of him. I look down at him as I decide to squat down. I look at his face, he’s ready to be please, but I just took him inside of my mouth. I swalllow, but I forget… can he?

So I take his jaw in my hand and I tell him to open his mouth, he does so. He is expecting a kiss. But for me, I wnat to make him cum first. So I straddle his face, and I take his hard friend, into my mouth, once again.

Im laying on top off him, he has my clit on his mouth, and I have his dick into my throat. He’s tasty, very salty. He locks me out, and I feel like I need to piss everywhere. So I focus on my job. I need to make him cum. He goes faster on his tounge, he lifts his hips up to my face, he’s about to fall out of his momentum. He thrusts into my throat. And again, and again, he thrusts. He lets out a groan, and he starts to stick his large fingers into my hole. He sucks and fingers at my bottom half.

He’s going to play dirty, so am I. So I grab his large balls and start to rub. He starts to slap my ass, and he runs up and down my waist line. I grab his leg, and he thrusts into my mouth again, he lets out an exasperated groan, he drops his bridge down, and he slides me over.

He arrived, and I haven’t. Maybe I am better.

“No, I know what you’re thinking, you aren’t better than I am.” Dawson says as he walks over to grab a condom.

“No, I like it raw.” I say as I get up from feeling like peeing.

“Easier on me then.” Dawson says as he lifts me up and I wrap around his figure. My boobs are pressed up against his abs, my nipples are sticking straight into him. He lays me down gently as he sticks a finger inside of me. He licks his finger clean.

“You’re still pretty wet for me.” He says, “but I haven’t cummed yet.” I said, impatiently.

I push his anatomy onto me. His cock is pushed up against his abdomen. He kisses me and he did infancy swallow.

He leans back up from our special kiss, and he licks his hand, and pump onto his cock once. He grasps onto my thigh, he spreads my legs apart.

“DAWSON!” I scream out in enjoyment. I’m exhilarated. His shaft ponds into my hips. My pelvis is now perked up into his hands. I need more, but I cannot fit much more. He has so many inches inside of me,I feel like I might puncture ny uterus.

“He shushed me and started to bounce. He thrusted about 4 times before I begged him to stop. And I cimmed right there. He grabbed a tissue that sat on our nightstands, specifically for this reason.

“Okay baby. You wanna shower, or do you want to wait until tomorrow morning?” Dawson says and he always knows the answer. He made sure I wa clean and the bed sheets weren’t wet and sticky for our semen.

He wraps his legs around me, I’m little spoon, and he’s big spoon. We are skin to skin. And I feel safe in his arms as he kissed me goodnight. And I feel ready to see his family on our trip next week. And I’m glad that his friends will see my “burn mark” I got. Which we all know that Dawson took his kisses to strong and he bit and sucked on my neck to leave territory marks.

#hockey #jocelynscrazyideas #nhl #dawson mercer #hockey fics #njd #nj devils #new jersey devils #nhl players #nhl fic #smut

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mcflymemes · 2 years ago

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TAYLOR SWIFT PROMPTS * assorted lines from her albums

meet me at midnight.

i'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.

i snuck in through the garden gate.

they say looks can kill, and i might try.

tell me to run.

sometimes i wonder which one will be your last lie.

i play it cool with the best of them.

love's a game. wanna play?

maybe we got lost in translation.

no one's celebrating.

don't say i didn't warn you.

we're dancing all night.

i didn't choose this town.

i should just tell you to leave.

you can try to change my mind.

we were both young when i first saw you.

let's get out of this town.

i might be okay, but i'm not fine at all.

i'd live and die for moments that we stole.

what would he do if he found us out?

all this shit is new to me.

i could show you incredible things.

i waited ages to see you there.

i miss you.

i should not be left to my own devices.

if i bleed, you'll be the last to know.

please don't go.

get it off your chest.

you look like my next mistake.

you told your family for a reason.

maybe i asked for too much.

can i go where you go?

i know it's long gone.

i think it's time to teach some lessons.

life will lose all meaning.

you're on your own, kid.

what you heard is true.

take me somewhere we can be alone.

everybody wants you.

boys only want love if it's torture.

nice to meet you. where you been?

one day i'll watch as you're leaving.

nothing lasts forever.

you did some bad things, but i'm the worst of them.

i don't remember.

i called a taxi to take me there.

he's gonna burn this house to the ground.

i just sit here and wait.

i can read you like a magazine.

i think i've been too good of a girl.

you might have to wait in line.

close your eyes.

the blame is on me.

save all your dirtiest jokes for me.

get it off my desk.

you started it.

the jokes weren't funny.

i think i've been a little too kind.

you're not sure which is worse.

say you'll remember me.

i'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

i'd like to be my old self again.

we're dead if they knew.

you've got no reason to be afraid.

by the way, i'm going out tonight.

i can picture it after all these days.

we never go out of style.

i heard you moved on.

we're young, and we're reckless.

i know you heard about me.

you were everything to me.

i've been dressing for revenge.

can we always be this close forever and ever?

i cried like a baby coming home from the bar.

no one has to know what we do.

what a shame she's fucked in the head.

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand.

what doesn't kill me makes me want you more.

i don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you.

this is our place. we make the call.

this love is difficult, but it's real.

it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

something about it felt like home somehow.

what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

how's one to know?

i polish up real nice.

you can tell me when it's over.

do you have a man?

the worst is yet to come.

will you please stand?

don't be afraid. we'll make it out of this mess.

i dropped your hand while dancing.

this dorm was once a madhouse.

hey, let's be friends.

don't get sad. get even.

you're talking shit for the hell of it.

you'll never have to be alone.

you love the game.

it's coming back around.

i get drunk on jealousy.

where do you think she got it from?

your opal eyes are all i wish to see.

i remember it all too well.

you wouldn't know what i mean.

don't put me in the basement.

i can make the bad guys good for a weekend.

you'll come back each time you leave.

i love you and that's all i really know.

i don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch.

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amazingmsme · 1 year ago

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Under the Table

AN: Was worried I might not finish since I was leaving my nana’s house today, but I was able to get it done pretty early! Here’s day 8 with the Shelby sibs ganging up on Tommy!

Perhaps the only time the Shelby family behaved like a normal, proper one was when they sat down for dinner. The sound of silverware clanking and scraping against plates could barely be heard over soft chatter. Talks of what they did that day, requests to pass the potatoes, and compliments on a delicious meal well made. You didn't make a scene at dinner, unless you wanted to face the wrath of Aunt Polly. Dinner was when they all behaved like civilized people and held conversation. Everyone knew that, especially Ada. Thomas shot her a glare, which she returned with an innocent grin.

He felt another squeeze on his knees and swore under his breath just as he hit the underside of the table. A loud bang startled everyone, jostling plates and causing glasses to slosh precariously. Polly gave a stern and unamused look from across the table, arching a brow.

"Everything alright Tommy?" she asked, though it was clear it didn't come from a place of concern. He gave a curt nod, staring intently at his plate.

"Yes, everything's fine."

"You sure? 'Cause that's about the fifth time I've had to catch my glass before you knock it over," she said accusingly. "So what's got you so damn fidgety?"

"I assure you, I'm fine," he insisted, making Ada stifle a laugh. Tommy fixed her with a look as Polly shifted her attention. Ada beamed from ear to ear as she scribbled her nails over her brother's kneecap, making him spasm and fight back a laugh. Unfortunately for him, his family was accustomed to the sight and slowly put two and two together.

"And you? Mind sharing what's so damn funny?" she asked, cocking her head expectantly. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, glancing at Tommy across the table.

"What, I can't be in a good mood?" she asked, leaning forward not so subtly and latching onto both of his knees. Thomas couldn't hold back the bark of laughter as he curled up, kicking the table so hard it hopped off the ground. Arthur stopped his and Polly's plates from sliding off. She was trying hard not to appear amused.

"Not if it's going to ruin our dinner," she said curtly.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with me. Tommy's the one flailin' about!" What had been one off squeezes turned into relentless ones, and he found himself sinking down in his chair as loud hysterical laughs echoed through the room.

Everyone was amused, eyes fixed on the scene before them. Arthur at this point was laughing along and managed to catch one of his brother's kicking legs. Tommy's eyes went wide and his chuckles kicked up a notch, morphing into nervous giggles as he tried in vain to stop him from taking off his shoes.

"NO! Arthur, Ihihi'll kill you!" he threatened, even holding his butter knife in a defensive position to add weight to his words, but it still wasn't enough to negate the effects of his rarely heard laughter.

"Well there's a sight you don't see everyday," Finn joked, a wide grin in his face as he watched from across the table. "Ada, don't forget to go for his ribs!"

"Nohoho, dohon't you dahahare!" he growled through gritted teeth, desperate to hold back but breathless snickers continued to push through the barricade of his teeth. He looked to Polly with pleading eyes. She was the only voice of reason in this madhouse, and the only one who wouldn't outright turn on him.

She knew she should put an end to this, to save Thomas from the wrath of his siblings and turn their attention back to their food, where it should be. But it's been so long since she's seen them all get along like this. And when was the last time she'd seen Tommy actually laugh and enjoy himself. So she really couldn't stop the fond smile that found its way on her face, or the warm feeling growing in her chest.

"Pohoholly! M-make thehem stohohohop!" he pleaded, but she saw something sparkling in his eyes and she knew: he was having fun.

"If you make him flip the table, you're all cleaning up." He scoffed indignantly at that response before chuckles and snorts overtook him once more.

"Except you Thomas, I'm sure this is already punishment enough," she teased, shooting him a wink from across the table. She grabbed her plate and glass of water and left them to their devices.

And when she heard a telltale crash followed by Tommy's smug voice, "That's what you fucking get!" she just smiled to herself. She peeked in through the doorway to see Arthur, Ada and Finn picking up scraps of food and china from the floor. Thomas stood in the corner, brushing himself off and glaring at the lot of them, fighting off his grin.

"So, was it worth it?" she asked.

"No," Tommy answered the same time the rest answered with an enthusiastic yes.

#tickletober 2023 #tickletober #tickletober day 8 #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #ada shelby #arthur shelby #finn shelby #polly gray #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders tickle fic #ticklish!tommy #ticklish!thomas

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jugheads-choni · 3 months ago

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—————

“So if you happen to see that neon sign some lonely night, at the end of that long journey, the journey that every one of us is on, come over. Come on in, take a seat. Know that you’ll always be among friends, and that Riverdale will always be your home. Until then, have a good night.”

—————

It’s been one year since we said goodbye to Riverdale. Since our characters got their happy endings.

- Since Archie settled down with a woman in Modesto, had a family, and continued writing and working construction.

- Since Jughead never married or had kids, but went on to become a prolific editor and created his own comics magazine called “Jughead’s Madhouse Magazine”.

- Since Betty moved to NYC to become a freelance writer, created a feminist magazine called “She Says”, and adopted a daughter named Carla.

- Since Veronica moved to LA & became a major movie studio executive, won two oscars and produced some of the most iconic films of her time.

- Since Reggie went on to play basketball for the Lakers, before moving back to Riverdale, taught basketball at Riverdale High, and had a wife and two sons.

- Since Cheryl & Toni settled into Oakland Hills in their craftsman house, living together as artists and social justice activists, with their son Dale.

- Since Kevin & Clay moved to NYC together, where Kevin started an off-broadway theatre company and Clay became a professor at Columbia.

Whether your ship ended up together or not, whether you enjoyed the final season or not, you have to appreciate that everyone was happy, successful. And that this final scene means they live on forever, tell countless stories and live everyday like it’s an Archie Comic. Everyone together in the Sweet Hereafter, for the rest of eternity.

There will never be another show like it, and I’m so grateful to have witnessed these beautiful characters’ journeys. Thank you, Riverdale. 💙🤍

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mydreamsarentrare · 3 months ago

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Drew talks to me, I laugh cause it’s just so funny / Our song is the way you laugh / And our daddies used to joke about the two of us growing up and falling in love / Laughing at the other girls, who think they’re so cool / Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself ‘hey, isn’t this easy?’ / I’m the one who makes you laugh, when you know you’re about to cry / I hear your laugh and look up smiling at you / I know I’m laughing on the car ride home with you / I realise your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard / You looked me in the eyes and told me you loved me, where you just kidding? / I could go back to every laugh, but I don’t want to go there anymore / No one could touch the way we laughed in the dark / Laughing when I was crying / You can laugh and cry but everybody knows / If you were here, we’d laugh about their vacant stares / And maybe someday when we’re older, this is something we’ll laugh about / Wrapped up in your arms and our friends are laughing, cause nothing like this ever happened to them / Two lovers laughing on the porch of their first house / All the beautiful times I watched you laughing from the passenger side / There I was again tonight, forcing laughter, faking smiles / To you everything’s funny, you’ve got nothing to regret / She calls up her mom, jokes about the ways that this one could go wrong / And we all just laugh after seeing it all these years / You who charmed my dad with self-effacing jokes / You laughed at my dreams, rolled your eyes at my jokes / And they’re all laughing as I’m looking around the room / And I was never good at telling jokes but the punchline goes ‘I’ll get older but your lovers stay my age’ / And I realise the joke is on me / Replaying your laughter, disaster / And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid, I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny cause he never did / I left a note on the door with a joke we’d made, and that was the first day / Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend / You carry my groceries and now I’m always laughing / You think that it’s funny when I’m mad / So you laugh like a child and I’ll sing like no one cares / I remember your bare feet down the hallway, I remember your little laugh / His laugh is a symphony / Ain’t it funny? Rumours fly / Salt in the wound, like you’re laughing right at me / Buttons on a coat, lighthearted joke / How you laugh when you lie / All the jokers dressing up as kings / I’m laughing with my lover, making forts under covers / Please don’t ever become a stranger who’s laugh I could recognise anywhere / Laughed on the schoolyard as soon as I tripped up and hit the ground / But something happened, I heard him laughing / And you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me / And so I became the butt of the joke / Secret jokes all alone, no one’s home / I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me / I can see you standing, honey, with his arms around your body, laughing but the joke’s not funny at all / This dorm was once a madhouse, I made a joke ‘well, it’s made for me’ / You saw the best in me, the joker and the queen / The jokes weren’t funny, I took the money / And then someone screams out ‘she’s laughing up at us from hell!’ / I stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe / Were you making fun of me, with some esoteric joke? / Is it a wonder I broke? Let’s hear one more joke, then we could all just laugh until I cry / The jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud / I laughed in your face and said ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith / He jokes that it’s heroin but this time with an ‘E’ / I’m high from smoking your jokes all damn night / I feel like laughing in the middle of practice / It felt just like a joke / how ironic, the curse or a miracle

#taylor swift #lyrical parallels #taylor swift parallels #this took way too long #if it wasn’t Taylor would have included what a bad joke in love him I don’t #and he laughs at all my jokes from so American #sorry Maisie and Olivia #fearless #speak now #red #1989 #reputation #lover #folklore #evermore #midnights #ttpd

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nekohime19 · 3 months ago

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Bimawen # 3 : Mi Mengai

I wasn't planning to finish this chapter so fast but here I am. Guess comments fueled me. Anyway, here is another chapter of both our favorite monkeys as stableboys!

Macaque is in for a rough day with his new boss.

The macaque was laying on his wooden bed, eyes fixed above him. He watched intently every nook and crannies of the ceiling, studying the cracks hidden in the shadowed corners. The faint light of the moon fell out of the window, enabling him to see better. He often did that when he couldn't sleep. Laying still until his muscles were tight and taut. Scrutinizing the ceiling with narrowed eyes. He relished every time he found some sort of fault. A crack made his heart beat faster and a spider web made his eyes sparkle with glee. It made him feel better. Like some sort of petty vengeance against the bimawen.

“Look! Your house isn't perfect as you think it is.” Would think the black-furred monkey with a sneer etched on his face. When he felt particularly brave, he would lightly claw at his bed, digging in the wood to add his mark. It thrilled him. To damage something that was in Wukong's possession, as small as the damage was. He didn't consider this place his. No matter what the blonde-furred monkey told him, this didn't feel like home.

He didn't have a home.

He would never have one.

This was just another kind of prison. Perhaps, if he pretended to be good they would release him? The macaque didn't know. He could try. But the other monkey was so infuriating he didn't know if he could hide his distaste of him. Everyday, the only thing he did was shovel, shovel, shovel, shovel. The bimawen would hand him the shovel with an indifferent look and shoo him away with a flick of wrist. He wasn't allowed to carry the stacks of hay, he wasn't allowed to carry the water, he wasn't allowed to do anything but shovel. And even that was limited. He would be dragged to the mansion just before the hour of the monkey by the clones.

And very much like their master, the clones were ruffians incapable of delicate touches. They would grip his arms and pull at his tail, laughing in his ears like mogwais. The macaque would just stay in his room and poke at the bandages brought by the clones. They tried to bandage him at first, but those morons didn't know how to do it right. Apparently their master was so sturdy he never had to clean a wound or tighten a bandage. The monkey kicked them away everytime they tried to fuss over him. Then, he always grabbed the dusty bronze mirror placed in one corner of the room and took care of his bleeding wounds himself.

He didn't need anyone.

He couldn't.

The black-furred monkey sat up and glanced at the garden outside of the window. He never went to the mansion's inner garden. He never went anywhere that wasn't his room. Especially at night. Contrary to Wukong, clones didn't sleep. They spend the night playing games, roaring like hyenas, or reclining in the strangest places like lazy cats. He once found a clone curled up in one of his room's cabinets. He let it be because the clone was silent, but he glared at the cabinet for two hours, curled up on his bed, before being able to relax.

He didn't want to cross paths with one of those mogwais. Who knew what could happen? As he thought this, the macaque felt his belly rumble and he winced. He put a hand on his stomach and frowned. He was hungry. There was nothing in this madhouse except peaches. Peaches, peaches, peaches the bimawen gorged himself on rosy skin and juicy flesh all day. The black-furred monkey almost longed for the tasteless vegetarian dishes he ate at the bodhisattva's residence. At least, those had variety. But what could he do? There was a kitchen here somewhere but the macaque doubted it had ever been used. And to even reach the kitchen, he had to avoid all the clones loitering around. Not to mention, the bimawen likely didn't store anything in his kitchen…

The macaque remembered a river running not far from here. He saw it once when he was dragged away from the stables by the clones just before the hour of the monkey. Contrary to many other Constellations and Spirits, the bimawen lived on the far end of the Region. His place was surrounded by wilderness. By forests and rivers. The macaque liked it. It was quieter and less crowded than what he saw at the Golden-gated Cloud Palace. He never dared to venture outside, afraid that the clones would chase him like blood-thirsty hounds and bring him back to their master. Who knew what would happen if the bimawen got truly furious? He didn't want to play with the nerves of a being so powerful.

Even if celestials didn't think so, he lived long years in the Region Below. He saw many things. Disguised himself as many different people. He knew who was powerful and who wasn't at one glance. It was a skill necessary to survive in a world infested by demons, like maggots on a corpse.

Everytime Sun Wukong walked, the macaque could hear the rustle of his muscles, cracking and scything like swords clashing on the battlefield. Strength was flowing in his veins. The macaque wasn't foolish enough to test the limits of it. The occasional pinch on his ears were enough to deter him.

But still, the macaque was also very confident in his abilities to escape. He could perhaps avoid the clones and escape this place to go fish at the river… He just had to steal some instruments in the kitchen beforehand, and then he would grill the fish under the sea of stars. He salivated at the mere idea. Oh, that sounded so good. He smacked his lips in hunger. Yes. He had to do this.

The black-furred monkey stood up and jumped over the windowsill, he landed in the inner garden. The macaque looked up at the moon rising in the dark sky, it was very high, almost at its zenith. The hour of the pig was almost at its end. The macaque crouched down, chest almost glued to the freshly watered earth, and quietly slithered in-between the bushes. The leaves caressed his face like fairies’ fingers, he paved his way amongst the thick and lush vegetation. Using his ears to avoid any wandering clones. He could hear some in the heart of the garden, they were reclining under the shadows of a maple tree, the thumbing of their stone hearts echoing in the silent night. The assistant's ears flickered, catching the clone's words drifting in the breeze. He scoffed. Those morons were talking about peaches. How unsurprising.

Peach-obsessed idiots.

Peach-brained mogwais!

The macaque muffled his snort in his palms and resumed his walk. He slithered like a serpent, veiling himself with the darkness, keeping close to the outskirt of the garden, until he reached the north gate. He stepped on the wood on the tip of his toes, wincing each time the old floor wailed. The black-furred monkey looked around with erect ears. He didn't know the northward wing layout but he could more or less guess where the kitchen was. He kept advancing, relieved that not a lot of clones loitered around here.

The northward wing seemed quite abandoned. It was dustier than the three other wings and less marked. The macaque was used to see russet strands of fur floating around or the imprint of wet feet on the floor. It was… unusual, almost odd, to not see them. But as odd as it felt, it was also a great relief. He didn't want to explain himself nor did he want to be subjected to the clones' foolery. He found the kitchen rather fastly, the northward wing wasn't as large as the three others.

The kitchen was engulfed in pitch black, every furniture was veiled by darkness itself. The macaque stumbled in the dark, pawing the walls to stay steady. His fingers traced the dusty wooden walls until it reached a closed window veiled by curtains. The black-furred monkey grabbed the old curtain and tore it from the window in one harsh movement, letting the moonlight pour in the small room, like water flooding a sinking boat. The macaque then looked around. The kitchen was very old. The cabinets were all veiled by a layer of dust, one too thick to be removed with one sneeze. He approached the cupboard and took the pitiful rest of salt laying in the bottom of a lil wood box, this would do. Then, the macaque took a bamboo basket and a rusty knife.

He didn't need anything else.

He hesitated before leaving. Perhaps it would be wiser to escape by the kitchen window than to traverse the whole mansion and reach the southward front door. The window opened to the back of the mansion, with thick lengthy grass swaying under the moon pale light. The macaque gulped and opened the window. He escaped silently. Jumping in the grass, each strand reached his hips.

He clutched the bamboo basket (with the salt and knife inside) harder and ran further away from the mansion. His heart was beating like festival drums inside of his chest. He felt adrenalines rush in his vein, burning everything in its wake like lava flows. It was exciting. Almost dizzying. He knew he had to come back in the morning. He wasn't daring enough to truly escape from this place. But for now, he would fool himself with this artificial taste of freedom and savor it until it faded from his tongue.

Finding the river wasn't difficult. He could easily hear the whipping of water against its own bed of stones, with waves running like a herd of horses. The river was neither too thin, nor too thick, perhaps because he was in the Region Above, even wilderness had this inherent perfection that felt unnatural. No matter. As long as fish swam in those waters, he would be satisfied.

The macaque put his basket made of bamboo on the moss covered shore, he then pulled up his linen robe and his sleeves and carefully stepped in the fresh river. The water nipped at his fur, almost making him stumble. The current was stronger than he thought. But he wasn't a newbie when it came to fishing in rivers. He knew how to anchor himself. He gazed at the rippling surface of the water, his breath stuck behind his teeth. Then, in one single second, he plunged his hands in the water and reached for the shadow slithering under the surface. His hands closed on the fish like claws, gripping at his scaly flanks, and yanking it out of the water. The macaque trilled in delight, it was a carp!

He kept fishing until he caught two more carps, then he went back to the shore and threw the fishes in his basket. The macaque took his salt and knife. The blade of the knife was a bit rusty, but it would do for tonight, he didn't have a choice anyway. The black-furred monkey took dry moss and lingering twigs, arranging them to create a bed worthy of receiving a flame. He then took flat rocks and hit them together above the bed of twigs until a spark came out and fell. Once the fire was bright and hot, the macaque took one of the carp and prepared it on a large flat rock.

He removed the scales by raking the knife on the fish skin, and then cleanly cut his belly to remove the guts, all the while he kept cleaning the fish in the river. Once the three carps were ready he put them on thick twigs and planted them close to the fire. The macaque watched the flames lick the carps, making their flesh turn slightly darker. He was salivating. The smell was tickling his nostrils. Once he deemed the fishes ready he sank his fangs in their white flesh and devoured them.

Ah, it felt good. He really ought to come here more often. Fish was way better than any peaches could ever be. He also missed the feeling of meat in his mouth. The bimawen didn't seem like a practicing Buddhist anyway, and even if he was, the macaque would still come here in secret to indulge his desire for meat. Vegetarianism was truly not meant for him. The black-furred monkey laid back with a full belly and watched the moon slowly descend, his meal made him sleepy, he could feel slumberish tears nipping at his eyes.

He could close his eyes for a moment. Only for a moment. As long as he came back in the morning, no-one would ever know he escaped during the night.

It was fine.

The macaque closed his eyes and fell asleep.

***

The macaque frowned. Something was nipping at his face, something sharp and unpleasant. He groaned and tried to shoo away the pest that lingered above him, he heard an unhappy squeak, and the nipping came back harder. The black-furred monkey turned over and hid his face in the crook of his arms. He breathed a sigh of relief when the nipping stopped. He concentrated on the peaceful sound of the river running and the comfortable warmth of the sun-... The macaque opened his eyes and sat up. He looked up and winced when the sun directly hit his eyes.

Oh no.

He fell asleep!

He spent the night here.

The sun was so high it was probably the hour of the snake already! The macaque felt a cold chill glide on his spine. Oh no, no, no, no, no! He hoped the bimawen didn't notice his absence. He didn't want to be punished. Would he be punished? He didn't know if he could endure it. He had gained some fat since his emprisonnement, and his wounds didn't make him suffer as much as before, but still he wasn't at his best. He was broken out of his musing by an indignant squeak-

The black-furred monkey looked down and crossed eyes with a very peculiar bird. The macaque wasn't very knowledgeable about birds, this one seemed to be some sort of songbird, but he wasn't certain. The bird had blonde feathers with red accents swirling at the end of it. But its most odd feature was the very badly hidden tail poking from its trail. He never saw a bird with a tail before… Perhaps it was a species that could only be found here. No matter. He had more important things to do than to worry about some strange mutation on a bird.

The macaque sat up and scrambled to grab his stuff. The bird flew on his shoulder, it pawed at his linen robe for a bit and began to nip at his ears.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” The monkey tried to shoo the bird away but it was strangely persistent. “Ouch! Hey, stop!” The songbird huffed and stepped aside, its talons dug uncomfortably in the monkey's shoulder. “You're even worse than the bimawen.” Grumbled the macaque as he rubbed his reddening ears. Why was everyone attacking his ears? The black-furred monkey observed the bird and snorted at its offended face. “Alright, maybe you're a lil bit better. You're not a peach-brain idiot who force me to shovel all day.” The bird chirped in offense and ruffled its own feather in anger.

“Moody lil thing.” The monkey tentatively reached for the winged creature and grazed its feathers. The bird flinched but it didn't fly away. The macaque chuckled, he grew bolder and scratched under the bird's chin. The bird leaned in the touch, its eyes half lidded with pleasure. “But I guess you're kinda nice��I-it's not like I want company, or wathever, I trust nobody in this place anyway. You're just nice. A nice bird.” The songbird gave him the most deadpan gaze the macaque ever saw. The monkey awkwardly chuckled and kept scratching the bird's chin. Was it embarrassing to admit his secret longing for company to a wild animal? Yes, it was. Half of him wanted to bury himself in the ground. But at least, the bird wouldn't repeat it to anyone. “Why am I even talking to a bird?” Mumbled the monkey. He snorted at the songbird trills of pleasure. “Oh you like being scratched here, don't you birdie?” The bird opened its eyes in shock, as if it just realized how affectionate it just acted, and shook off the macaque's hands in embarrassment. It flew away with an outraged squeak. “Is it shy?” Snorted the macaque. But he didn't have time to marvel at the songbird's strange feeling.

He had to come back before the bimawen noticed his absence.

The monkey knew Wukong began to work at the beginning of the hour of the horse. And he had very little time before this hour began. The macaque scrambled away from the river and hurried back to the mansion. He jumped by the kitchen window and passed by the inner garden to regain his room. He crossed path with some clones on the way but ignored them, until one caught his wrist and warned :

“The boss is waiting for you at the front door.”

Fuck.

The monkey bit his lips, he hurried towards his room and threw the bamboo basket (with the knife and rest of salt) in his room before running towards the front door of the mansion. Sun Wukong was wearing his scarlet-red robe, the cloth was flowing on his blonde fur like rivers of blood, or maybe the macaque just had an overactive imagination. The bimawen seemed even more ruffled than usual, the black-furred monkey even swore he saw a hint of red on the tip of his ears but it disappeared as soon as he noticed it. It was probably a figment of his imagination. Why would Sun Wukong's ears be red? It didn't make any sense.

“You're late.” Grumbled the blonde-furred monkey, he crossed his arms and turned towards his assistant with the hint of a fanged smile. Oh… this wasn't good. The macaque flinched and stepped back with a fidgeting tail, it trained behind him like a pitiful rag. Sun Wukong glared at him and the horse assistant averted his eyes, lower lips trembling in fright. The black-furred monkey closed his eyes and prepared himself for a strike or some sort of punishment at least, but it never came. Instead the bimawen huffed and opened the mansion doors with a kick. “Don't be late again. ”

The macaque blinked in surprise, before scrambling to follow after his boss. The walk to the stables was quite tense. Veiled in thoughtful silence. But it was league better than being punished. Perhaps, the bimawen was more merciful than he thought. Once they reached the stables, the macaque immediately went to the shovels but he was stopped by a cough from the bimawen. The horse assistant turned towards his boss and nervously awaited for his order.

“Huh, you… Anyway you shoveled enough.” Mumbled the blonde-furred monkey, he then gazed at the Six-eared monkey chest, almost as if trying to unveil everything underneath the linen robe. Sun Wukong seemed to be satisfied enough with what he saw, then a taunting expression appeared on his face. “You don't know how to ride do you? Maybe I should teach you.”

Oh no. Was this a vengeance for making him wait? The macaque gulped in unease, he didn't want to approche those huge beasts. They could kill him with nothing but a kick in the guts. Yet the macaque was even more unwilling to go against Sun Wukong, he was an even more deadlier beast after all. The horse assistant gulped and forced a smile.

“Oh… Yeah, okay.” His expressions must have been quite funny to behold, Sun Wukong coughed to hide his snorts, his eyes crinking in amusement, like moon crescents. The macaque wanted to claw at him, to wipe this expression off his face, but he restrained himself. Repriming his violent urges.

“Follow me.” Ordered Sun Wukong. “You'll ride Mango, the smallest and weakest of our stable.” The black-furred monkey didn't know if this information was meant to comfort him or mock him. He knew Mango's stable, he cleaned it enough by now. If he remember right Mango was a small stallion with bright yellow fur and a reddish mane that cascaded on his shoulders like rivers. He was smaller, for certain, but he still had muscles made of steel. The macaque followed after his boss, once they reached Mango's stall, he took a step back, unwilling to approach. Sun Wukong went inside, like always without any worries. He patted the stallion's head and guided him outside of the stall. Mango seemed quite… soft-hearted, he followed Wukong outside without any fuss and even leaned in his hands in search of pets. But the macaque wouldn't be fooled. This was still a beast.

“Alright, let's go!” Sang Wukong.

“Wait, shouldn't we get a saddle?”

“What? No that's useless, I don't use a saddle so you don't have to either.” Huffed the bimawen, he rolled his eyes when he saw the macaque's uneasy behavior and gestured for a nearby clone to come closer. “Fine, bring a saddle.” The clone nodded and went to fetch the equipements.

The horse assistant breathed a sigh of relief and followed his boss outside. They settled just outside of the stable and waited for the clone to come back with a saddle. Once the clone was here, Wukong saddled Mango. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the macaque swore his boss had some troubles with the saddle. Perhaps he did it so little he forgot how to do it properly. But still the bimawen acted like everything was fine so perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination. Once Mango was properly saddled, Wukong huffed and wiped away his sweat, then he turned towards the black-furred monkey.

“There. Now go on him.”

“A-already, shouldn't we get to know each other first?” Nervously replied the macaque as he gazed at the stallion.

“You're going on a ride, not on a date.” Snorted Wukong, the macaque rolled his eyes at the comment. “Come on, he's not gonna eat you.”

That's debatable, thought the macaque. He cautiously approached the stallion, his tail twitching every time the horse did so much as huff or puff. Once he was close, he gulped and nervously grabbed the saddle. He hosted himself on the horseback, settling on the saddle, and stood perfectly still. Almost as if he was transformed into stones. Wukong snorted and patted Mango's flank.

“Relax, Mango is gonna get stressed if you're like this.”

“Yes, because we wouldn't want the horse to be stressed.” Sarcastically replied the macaque as he tightened his grip on the rein. He was gripping it so tight his knuckles were turning white. He felt like he was sitting on a timed bomb. One wrong movement and he would be violently ejected.

“Try to guide him forward.” Pushed on Wukong. He went beside the macaque and arranged his position a little. The black-furred monkey didn't move an inch, completely still. Wukong sighed in disappointment and scratched his neck in thought. The bimawen then took the rein and guided Mango forward, the macaque yelped and clutched the rein tighter.

Gradually, after several deep breaths, the macaque relaxed.

“Want to do it alone or do I have to do everything for you lil baby?” Snorted the bimawen, oh if he could the macaque would punch him in the face.

“I don't know how to do it.”

“You just gotta feel it.” Shrugged Wukong. Oh wow, that was so helpful, sarcastically thought the macaque. This peach-brain idiot really had nothing in his head but peaches.

“You're a terrible teacher.” He hissed through his teeth.

“And you're a terrible student. Come on, be a lil bolder. Here, let me help you.” Sighed Wukong as he went out of the macaque's sight.

“Wait, what are you-” Sun Wukong, like the idiot he was, smacked Mango's behind, making him run forward. The black-furred monkey yelped and scrambled to grip the rein.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, he was going to die!!

The horse assistant held on for dear life, he was shaking like a leaf, persuaded this mighty beast would be the end of him. He closed his eyes and awaited for his fated doom. Killed by a dragon-horse. There were worse deaths. But to his surprise, he didn't get ejected. The macaque hesitantly opened his eyes. Mango was still running, the assistant could feel his might at each of his steps, but it felt oddly… good. The macaque didn't know having the wind run in his hair was such a great feeling. It was almost better than the artificial freedom he tasted when he escaped by the kitchen window last night.

“Oh this isn't so ba–Oh Gods tree! Tree! TREEE !!” The macaque harshly pulled on the rein, trying to stop the beast. Mango whined in frustration and arched his back. The monkey yelped and was ejected out of the horse. He fell face first on the mud.

The macaque could hear Wukong's shrieking laughter not far from here.

This bastard.

The bimawen hurried towards them and checked Mango over. “You're okay, bud ?” The stallion pressed in his hands and enjoyed his pets. Of course, the horse is more important than him, why did he even hope otherwise? The macaque got up on his own and dusted himself off. His wounds winced a lil but he hid it.

“I'm returning to the stables.” He grumbled, ears lowered in defeat.

“Hey, your lesson is not over.” Called the bimawen.

“I think I was humiliated enough for today.”

Sun Wukong gazed at Mango and sighed, he petted the stallion and mumbled : “What a prissy dude.” Mango heigned and pushed Wukong towards the macaque. “What? He said he was done. If he wants to shovel, let him shovel.” The stallion gazed at the bimawen and huffed in dissatisfaction. “Come on… Argh, okay you win.” The dragon horse heigned in joy and leisurely trotted towards the retreating macaque. Wukong rolled his eyes and followed after them.

“Hey, come on, don't be like that.” Called Wukong as he caught up with the macaque. “Follow me home.”

The macaque wanted to protest but this infuriating idiot was still his boss, he grumbled and reluctantly followed after Wukong. Mango was takin in by the clones and led to his stall.

The bimawen dragged his assistant back to the mansion, he pushed him inside of his room and then went to rummage in his dusty cabinets. The macaque watched him with a narrowed gaze. He curled up on the wooden bed, his long serpent-like tail coiling around his feet. Sun Wukong let a victory thrill pass his lips once he found bandages and one of his old robes.

“Come on, you're all dirty.” Huffed Wukong, he took the macaque wrist and roughly dragged him around. Why was this guy always so rough? Was he doing it on purpose!? They eventually reached the baths. “There, clean yourself. Then I'll help you bandage yourself.” Wukong then bit his lips and added with reddening ears : “I'm only doing this cause you're so helpless!”

The macaque rolled his eyes. He didn't like the idea of being naked in front of this guy but he didn't really had a choice. He slowly removed his muddy linen robe and entered the hot waters. He shivered when he touched the warm surface of the water. He wasn't used to such luxurious baths. He hid himself in the water and just scrubbed the mud, trying to remove it. But his fur wasn't cooperating with him.

“What are you doing?” Snorted Wukong.

“I'm cleaning myself.” Huffed the macaque.

“No but you'll damage your fur if you do it like that. Just groom yourself.” The macaque blinked in confusion, not really understanding what this meant. He always cleaned himself like this. Wukong rolled his eyes and entered the bath fully clothed. “You're really a big baby. You don't even know how to groom yourself.”

“What are you doing?” Asked the macaque with suspicion. He stepped back, putting distance between him and the bimawen. Wukong huffed and stepped closer. This dance went on and on until the macaque was blocked by one of the bath walls.

The black-furred monkey closed his eyes in fright. This was it. He was going to be hit. Maybe the punch would kill him on spot? It would be easier in a way. But contrary to what he thought, Wukong only turned him around and began to comb his fur with his fingers, removing the mud.

Macaque flinched at every contact. It was like he was burned by the touches. He hated it. He hated the way the fingers felt strangely good. He hated how embarrassed he was to not know what grooming was. He hated to feel like this. He had never been around other monkeys much. He had primal instincts, like every other animal, but he didn't knew much about his own species.

But he would never admit that to the other monkey. Oh no, he could already imagine his mocking face, this would be a disaster. He'll burry this secret in his tomb. Once Wukong finished with his grooming, Macaque was dragged out of the bath. His fur had never been this shiny before. It was almost like witchcraft.

The bimawen made him sit besides the bath and tried to undoe his bandages. Of course, he failed miserably. Like his clones the blonde-furred monkey wasn't used to this sort of things. The macaque grumbled and pushed him away, he was going to make everything worse!

Sun Wukong gasped, offended by the gesture, and growled. The macaque flinched and averted his eyes. After a few minutes of silence, the bimawen handed the bandages over with a very quiet trill, something ressembling an half-baked apology. The macaque took the bandages and treated his wounds alone, like he always did.

Like he would always do.

Once he was clean and bandaged, the horse assistant took Wukong's old robe and put it on. The length was just right, but it was way too large, he was floating in the fabric. Sun Wukong chuckled at the sight.

“You're really a lil baby~”

“Don't you have horses to return to?” Snapped the macaque. Wukong rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, gods you're no fun.” The blonde-furred monkey walked towards the door but stopped before he could leave. He hesitated a little before turning back with very poor hidden curiosity. “What's your name, by the way, you never told me.”

The black-furred monkey flinched. This was not a subject he liked. It reminded him of how unimportant he was. He was no-one. Nothing but a shadow trying to be a living being. He bit his lips and averted his eyes. He could lie. But strangely enough he didn't want to lie. He was tired by this day. He just wanted to go back to his room and lay down until the moon woke up from its slumber.

“Six-eared macaque.” Mumbled the macaque.

“No, I'm not asking for your species, I'm asking for your name you idiot.” Snorted Sun Wukong.

“Well that's it.”

“What do you mean that's it?”

“I don't…” The black-furred monkey rubbed his arms in a pitiful attempt at comfort. The air around both monkeys turned quite awkward. They both didn't know how to go on after this.

“Oh, huh, want me to give you one?” Awkwardly proposed the bimawen. The macaque perked up in excitement. Oh… he could get a name? He never thought he would be able to…he never thought someone would…

The macaque coughed to hide his excitement and replied with very poorly concealed interest : “You know, if you want to, I wouldn't mind.”

“Alright then, walk.” Huffed Wukong as he put his hand on his hips.

“What why?”

“Just do as I say.”

The macaque frowned, not understanding the logic behind this, but did as told anyway. Sun Wukong intently watched him walk, letting out lil hums of consideration now and then.

“Based on the way you walk you're a mihou, so your name should be based on this.” The macaque rolled his eyes, wow, what a good observation, this guy was truly a genius. Wukong ignored him and went on : “If we remove the animal radical from hou, we get marquis, and you're definitely not a marquis. If we remove the animal radical from mi, we get full, and I guess you're always full of sass and grumpiness, so it fits you. Your first name shall then be Mi. Then, huh… I guess you're… you like to sleep in, considering you were late this morning, so meng would fit you. And then…. well…. maybe….maybe ai, I don't know, you just give this vibe, I guess. Don't read into it! So Mi Mengai! That's your name!”

The macaque stayed still for a second, ears reddening in embarrassment and joy, and mouthed his new name. “Mi Mengai… Mi Mengai.” It sounded good. It sounded right. It sounded like something that was his.

Mi Mengai, he was Mi Mengai !

“You look like you like it.” Snorted Wukong with a very satisfied smile.

“It's alright.” Huffed the black-furred monkey with crossed arms. He's not gonna admit how exciting it was to have a name to this idiot!

“Wathever you say… Mengmeng~” Laughed Sun Wukong. Mengai glared at his boss for this outrageous nickname, how dare he! This peach-brain mogwai !

“You're the wrost.”

“You just don't have any humor, Mengmeng.”

This idiot! Mengai was certain he chose this name just because of this horrible nickname. If he was any braver, he would voice out loud his own silly nickname for this mogwai, as it was, he wasn't this brave yet.

As such, he decided to keep cursing his boss deep in his heart.

This damn peach-brain mogwai!

+ some vocabulary

Mogwai : in Chinese mythos a mogwai is a sort of lil devil / lil gremlin

Chinese hours : Chinese hours, which I use in this chap, are divided between the twelve Chinese zodiac signs and represents a precise period of time.

Hour of the rat : 23h (11pm) to 1h00 (1am)

Hour of the ox : 1h00 (1am) to 3h00 (3am)

Hour of the tiger : 3h00 (3am) to 5h00 (5am)

Hour of the rabbit : 5h00 (5am) to 7h00 (7am)

Hour of the dragon : 7h00 (7am) to 9h00 (9am)

Hour of the snake : 9h00 (9am) to 11h00 (11am)

Hour of the horse : 11h00 (11am) to 13h00 (1pm)

Hour of the sheep : 13h00 (1pm) to 15h00 (3pm)

Hour of the monkey : 15h00 (3pm) to 17h00 (5pm)

Hour of the rooster : 17h00 (5pm) to 19h00 (7pm)

Hour of the dog : 19h00 (7pm) to 21h00 (9pm)

Hour of the pig : 21h00 (9pm) to 23h00 (11pm)

For Macaque name, Wukong use the same technique Subhodi used on him to name him, which is to observe the person walk and then to offer a detailed explanation of the origin of their name.

Mihou : Macaque

Meng : dream/ daydreaming/ dreaming

Ai : love

Mi Mengai could be translated in this way : the macaque who dreams of love. Of course I'm not a Chinese expert so this is very approximate, but my intention for the name was this.

But Meng (written differently) can also means idiot. The nickname Mengmeng is essentially Wukong calling macaque an idiot.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

#Six eared macaque #Macaque #JTTW #Journey to the west #Bimawen au #Shadowpeach #Sun Wukong #Wukong

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latibvles · 5 months ago

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useful as dirt.

okay i promise i’ll stop beating the immediate post-Münster era with a bat after this one (maybe) but in the meantime … our camera pans back over to England, where it’s apparent that one Jo Alden is having some typewriter troubles at the Flak House. Luckily we’ve got an antsy lawyer-turned-pilot there to offer some assistance :) mind any typos, this one isn't proofread my fault OGs

—

They have typewriters at the Coombe House.

Really nice ones, heavy and black, the ding when she reaches the end of the line providing some type of familiarity. Jesus, Josie, they have running water and real coffee and clawfoot tubs, why wouldn’t they have typewriters? But Josephine can’t help but be a little bit enamored with the idea. Maybe enamored wouldn’t be the right word. Relieved maybe, that one thing, one minor thing, had gone right after what seemed like a three-day series of wrongs that’d left her helpless and rattled enough for Harding to decide to send the two of them to the Flak House.

Coombe House, she corrects herself. Calling it the Flak House, as the others seemed partial to, made her feel like there was something innately wrong with her. It was too close to madhouse, and Jo wasn’t mad — she was just… sad. And she wasn’t sleeping, either. And – okay, maybe she’s not mad, but she is angry: angry that Captain Savorre made her stand down and guilty for feeling angry about it.

Was it so wrong of her to prefer she’d gone down with the ship than be the one left behind?

She hasn’t said that part to Neumann, yet; she wouldn’t dare to.

Jo knows, deep down, that Lieutenant Neumann wished it was Savorre standing here now as opposed to herself. She wasn’t offended by that, she just kind of wished Neumann would just say it. Once, there’d been… something established between herself and Neumann — as much their friends were partial to teasing Jo about her mother-henning, Neumann had made the brief remark about how “someone’s gotta keep you people on a leash.”

She’d smiled at Jo then, and although Neumann was only a year her senior — something about it made Jo preen, like when her older sister Jean showed off her spelling test to their mother to get the younger girl her rightfully earned praises. She prided herself on knowing what her crew needed, how to keep them out of trouble: who needed the shoulder to cry on and who just needed an ear to listen.

Neumann needed neither of those things. What she needed was the one thing Jo couldn’t give, even if she’d do anything to fix this.

And she couldn’t really write, either. An added inconvenience that the typewriter was meant to amend. She resented it — her hands, the way they trembled. Her last letter from her mother was a scolding about her lack of a response: I hope you haven’t forgotten you have a home to come back to in the midst of all your self discovery. Your siblings, as well as your parents, eagerly await your next letter, whenever you plan to send it.

Jo didn’t know how to tell her that correspondence had become harder over the past four months — that, and she never knew what she was supposed to say. Maybe in the beginning it was easy to write about the novelties of England, the Land Army girls, the mechanics and the Club Mobile girls. But now her pool of words and anecdotes had run dry and Jo wasn’t especially hard-pressed to lie to her mother.

Well, that, and her hands just won’t stop shaking.

She told herself it was from the recoil of the gun, and not from watching formations fall apart in technicolor. It used to really only start once they were up in the air and over the channel — she could ignore it once her hands wrapped around the handles of the gun, demanding the full commitment of the muscles in her hands. Then it’d trickled out of the fort and into smaller tasks: the morning of their second raid on Bremen, she’d spilled her coffee onto the breakfast table and Captain Savorre gave her one of those analytical looks of hers: narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

The jig was up by the next afternoon.

Physically, according to Doctor Stover, there was nothing wrong with her. It was all in her head. Like dropping a Life-Saver into a bottle of Coke and then sealing it just again. They’d already been planning to send her up here when news hit that only one crew came back from Munster — so they sent Neumann and her off like two peas in a pod.

She’s only gotten a couple lines into her letter by the time it starts. A ‘Dear Mother’, an apology for not writing that Jo doesn’t really mean even if it’s owed, halfway through questioning about how Jack and Joan are doing when it starts and she huffs under her breath.

And Jo tries, really does try, to continue, to keep at it. But three typos later and she can already envision the lines in the subsequent letter about being sloppy and how she knows better than to be so careless in a letter home.

Her chin wobbles without meaning to, and she has to take a measured breath, grappling with her frustrations and trying not to burst into tears. She’s never been much of a crier. Carrie was, after bad flights. Fern, too, when she had too many drinks and crossed the line from giggly to weepy (there’s a memory there, clawing to the forefront of her mind, when Fern and a few others drank to Curt Biddick’s memory. How she was glassy-eyed afterward, crying into Jo’s shoulder about missing her dance partner).

Dammit. She’s wiping at the tears as they prick her eyes and they practically go dry as there’s a clearing of the throat that draws her attention from her ever-growing list of shortcomings.

Lieutenant Rosenthal- er, Rosie, is standing across the table from her, looking at her curiously in a way that’s so reminiscent of how he’d stood during Dye’s party: a high school freshman uncertain what to do with his hands at his very first school dance. He looks at her, gives her that same shy smile he’d offered during their first meeting. His eyes take in the whole of her as they had when she’d approached him initially.

June’s voice harps on in her ear, sharp and strongly-opinionated: no point in learning the names of a bunch of guys who’re just gonna get sent home in a box in a week.

She swallows hard. His eyes fall on her hands and she balls them into fists in a feeble attempt to put up some type of wall, mildly embarrassed by her present defect.

“Hi,” Jo offers, a half-hearted attempt to distract, and blue eyes flit back up to her face.

“Hi,” he breathes out, eyeing the typewriter. “Writer’s block?” Jo wonders if he’s asking on purpose, opening up an avenue for her to scurry down instead of stating the obvious.

“Something like it,” she reaches up to tuck dark hair behind her ear. “You know when you have the words in your head but it just won’t come out?”

“Eesh, don’t make me relive my college essay days, Jo,” Rosie gives her a faux-groan and Jo laughs a little under her breath. They lapse into a momentary silence, he eyes her hands, then looks back at her face. “Anything uh… I can help with?”

“Not unless you wanna write it for me,” Jo doesn’t mean for the words to tumble out, but they do anyway. She doesn’t know what’s worse — the fact that she’s said it or the fact that he looks like he’s considering it. She gets her answer when he starts moving towards her, rounding the table and Jo tilts her head to look up to him; feeling flushed.

“That was a… you don’t have to do that, really.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t mind. The boys are uh… rowing.”

“Rowing?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even know they knew how to do that,” Rosie admits, and he almost sounds exasperated when he sits down next to her. Jo looks over his frame as he takes the seat beside her, trying not to linger on it too long. They’d all been provided civilian clothes when they got here. He was in some type of pale blue button-down tucked into his slacks, hair curling more than it did three days ago.

He looks so delightfully ordinary, it’s hard not to stare.

“Rowing isn’t a thing you do?” She asks, half-teasing, and he chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Not many rowing teams in Brooklyn, you?”

“No, but my big brother did. I was more into reading and writing than sports.” Rosie reaches over to drag the typewriter towards him, their elbows bumping with the movement. His lips curl into another smile, flashing teeth.

“So am I writing a Shakespearean Sonnet?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this is just a letter to my mother,” Jo returns it with one of her own, softer now. “And I’m not much of a poet.” He gives her an unconvinced look and she’s almost caught off-kilter by the fact that he’s already forming an opinion of her: enough of one to disagree with her statement, even if he doesn’t verbalize it. But he nods all the same, no matter how much he’s already begun to believe that she could be a poet.

“You said it’s uh… in your head right?” And she nods as he looks over her first three sentences, and their crossed out misspellings. Her cheeks burn. “So just talk to me and I’ll write it down.”

“Like a scribe?” He chuckles, something soft and breathless.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that,” he assents and she nods, brows scrunching together in quiet concentration for a moment. She kind of has to look away from him a bit. A small effort not to get caught up in how his shirt matches his eyes or the soft dark circles there, only perceptible because of the way the sun’s hitting his face. Okay, so she does have time to get caught up in it even as her mind goes through what exactly it is she wants to say.

“Well now I wanna tell her about the rowing or uh- okay, first, tell her I’m on leave.” Rosie starts with his typing, quicker than hers. She almost resents him for that. “And that there’s rowing here. I think that’d make James smile.”

“So James is the rower?”

“Mhm,” she nods slowly. “I’ll tell her about the hedge maze, too. And um…” she falters and he looks at her. She kind of wishes he didn’t. On one hand she’s endeared by his eagerness to help. On the other hand, he’s distracting and she can’t help but wonder if she’s made that blatant on her own face.

“They’ve got good pancakes in the dining hall.”

“They do.” He types, and she talks.

There is that fleeting thought that this might just be an inconvenience after all, when she stalls and tries to come up with things to say. It harps on her, hard to shake — doubt wrapping itself like a viper around her brain and squeezing a bit. She’s not used to being the one needing help, more often the one used to doing the helping. And her brain is treading into that dangerous territory again: angry, upset, rueful. If she’d been in the plane then she wouldn’t have to inconvenience Rosenthal with her inability to write a letter.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Jo reminds him, about halfway through the closing paragraph. He pauses, gives her a long look, eyes dragging over her face, then up and down. “I-I appreciate it, really I do, but… if there’s anything you wanted to do today I don’t want to hold you up.” Rosie looks back at the paper, lip between his teeth.

“If I tell you something, promise you won’t snitch to the doctor?”

“Well I’ve already heard about the training in your underwear,” His cheeks dust pink at that, and he lets out a bewildered, breathy laugh, nodding even as he contemplates his next words.

“I’ve been going a little stir crazy the past couple days. This…” he trails off, looks at the typewriter then back to her with a smile that edges on shy. “I like this. I know we’re supposed to be relaxing or resting or…”

“It’s hard to do that after being in drive for three days straight,” Jo finishes, and he agrees breathlessly, like she’s perfectly summarized it. They hold each other’s stare for a long moment, and once again she finds her well all used up of what could be better, more comforting words. She doesn’t think he’d want them though. Their knees knock for a moment beneath the table, slacks against skirts and Jo feels almost dopey in his presence. “I want to say hi to my sisters too, that’s uh… Jean and Joan.” Rosie snorts.

“Your mom has a thing for J names?”

“There’s also a Jack if you can believe it, three years younger.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rosie can’t help the way his shoulders shake as he types it, and then a couple other things she wants to say. She throws in a small anecdote at the end that has him grinning — she’s talking about a new pilot who finds her naming conventions very impressive, and his eyes are crinkling at the corners in a way that Jo can’t stop staring at. Once she’s concluded, he’s taking the paper from the typewriter, shaking it a bit so the ink dries faster. Then he raises both brows. “Can I add something at the bottom?”

He looks like a little boy asking permission to pet a dog. Jo tilts her head to one side.

“Should I be worried?” Rosie smiles, reaches for a long-discarded pen on the table, and scribbles something at the bottom. She leans in enough to see it. R. Rosenthal says hello, in a neat slanted script. She laughs a little, takes the letter from him after that. Then at the bottom, she writes in her own looping cursive: Love, Josie. She can feel his eyes looking from her to the paper.

“Josie, huh?”

“I think she’d have a heart attack if I signed them as anything but,” she admits. She could see the sentence now about how being overseas is changing her — her mother had always been dramatic. “But Harrie likes to add rhymes to the end of it, see how long she can…” She trails off, a lump forming in her throat a moment that she forces herself to swallow. If she thinks too hard about it she can hear it ringing in her ears, and that might just be enough to sour this comfortable air between them. She doesn’t realize Rosie’s arm has moved behind her chair until his thumb brushes against her back with his thumb unintentionally.

“How long has she gotten it?” He asks, not missing a beat

“Five rhymes, I think,” He rises to his feet with her, and she nods to herself once. “You’d probably get tacked onto it too, now that I think about it. Josie and Rosie.” He chuckles, amused.

“Didn’t even catch that. You sure you’re not a poet? You already got the rhyming thing down.”

Jo shakes her head again, cheeks flushing at the tease and when she steps he steps with her, walking out of the study with her to hunt down an envelope and a stamp.

“Takes more than rhyming to write poetry,” Jo points out, “You need rhythm too.”

“Oh, I’m no good with that, they kicked me out of choir.” Rosie says it so quickly that she knows he isn’t lying — she laughs anyway, a small giggle that she just can’t help.

“Well you can’t just say that and not tell me how it happened.” She points out, and he lets out a small sigh, flushing as they brush up against each other — which has her doing the same.

“Alright well… buckle in, no laughing at me till the end.”

Jo doesn’t promise that she won’t, but she promises to try her best.

#*poet writes #ch: josephine alden #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal fic #mota oc #masters of the air oc

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kaylorstree · 1 year ago

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Random Gaylor Things I Think About on A Daily Basis:

In Champagne Problems ‘This dorm was once a madhouse, I made a joke Well it’s made for me now’ makes no fucking sense for Joe or Matty- in the UK we don’t called university housing ‘dorms’- we call them ‘flats’ or ‘room’ or ‘university housing’. The only British place that had a ‘dorm’ would maybe be a boarding school, but that’s cutting it fine. Unless you go to fucking Hogwarts. But you know who did go to University in America? Karlie FUCKING Kloss.

‘What must it be like to grow up that beautiful with your hair falling in your face like dominoes?’ in Gold Rush… When has a lad ever had hair that falls in his face like dominoes??????

‘All the girls you’ve loved before have made you the ONE I’ve fallen for’ Grammatically only makes sense if the ONE is a girl. Otherwise wouldn’t the lyric just be ‘Have made you the BOY I’ve fallen for’????

‘We should off our different scarlet letters, trust me mine is better’ What scarlet letter would Taylor possibly have? Especially in 2014 when New Romantics was released, Taylor was at the top off her career ladder, she was the most perfect and successful pop star in the world. What would she do that is SO scandalous that it would trump everyone else’s shameful secrets?

In Derry Girls, in the episode where Claire is outed (SPOILERS FOR DERRY GIRLS) Orla says ‘Michelle Pfeiffer looks like a cat’ and that really amused me since Karlie is compared to Michelle Pfeiffer. See ‘Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you’ve ever seen’ in Riptide by Vance Joy.

‘The devil’s in the details but you’ve jot a friend in me’ in Peace.

Ice Spice says ‘Karma is my bestie’ 😭😭😭

As much as we all hate Matty Healy, what is he really well known for? Being a troll on a massive scale. What is the biggest troll? Being in a fake relationship with Taylor to make her seem straight.

(these were theorised before the Matty Healy break-up)

#kaylor #taylor swift #taylurking #spotify #ttb #gaylor swift #karlie kloss #playlist #taylor and matty #matty #matty healy

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wacky-nameless-inventor-24 · 1 year ago

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Hey! Hey you!

Do you want to read a spooky Halloween-themed team science fic with haunted houses and moving objects and family fluff and possibly a twist villain this October?

Look no further than this fic!!!!

When Gyro's aunt passes, his family leaves it to him to clean out her house and find a place for all of her belongings. Fenton, Huey and Boyd come along to help, but none of them have any idea of what they're getting themselves into.

It is spooky time so I will be annoying about promoting this fic <3

#tee heeeee #uagh I would love to see your comments too #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell cabrera #fenro #b.o.y.d.#b.o.y.d. gearloose #Boyd gearloose #huey duck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #duckverse #wacky writes

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valhallaas · 2 years ago

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Out To Get You

Chapter Two - October 26th

Masterlist

pairing: bob floyd x poppy!reader

summary: death was surrounding you. why were you the only one seeing it? it was all tied to you. when your friends started getting phone calls, and the sudden disappearances, it didn’t take you long to figure it out.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni) some themes may be upsetting, this is a slasher fic. there’s going to be gore. death. blood. violence. horror. (eventual) smut.

a/n: here it is! chapter two!!! i hope you like it!

The rain starts early Monday morning. Your throat tightens at the sight of the flashing cameras and news vans surrounding the entrance of the base. A bunch of reporters are standing around giving different news reports.

“North Island Naval Air Station was devastated last night when a Top Gun aviator was found brutally butchered. Authorities have yet to issue a statement but our sources tell us that no arrest has been made and the murderer is at large.”

Lisa’s home was still taped off. You didn’t know the details, and you weren’t sure that you wanted to. Yesterday had been rough. You spent the better half of the morning talking with the police. There wasn’t anything to offer them other than you heard screaming. It still echoed in your head. It keeps you up at night. You could’ve helped her had you known. But you didn’t, and it’s too late to think about things like that.

But coming to work to this? You’d completely forgotten about Jagger. He wasn’t the first guy to put his hands on you. You doubt he’d be the last. Did he deserve to die for it? No. Jake hadn’t gone into details yesterday when you called him, and Bob didn’t talk about it after the officer had left. He hadn’t given you a moment to truly process it all. Sweeping you out of your house and into a whirlwind weekend. You didn’t return home until late last night.

Fiddling with your keys, you stare out at the vans, the rain causing them to blur. You need to get out, head in. You’re sure it’ll be a madhouse. But you’re paralyzed. Your skin pricks, hair on the back of your neck sticking up. Your eyes leave the reporters as you look around. That damn feeling is back. Someone is watching you. It makes you want to scream. Your car door opening makes you jump. A sharp glare sent Jake’s way as he stands before you, rain dampening his hair.

“Can you believe this shit?”

Pushing him out of the way, you climb out of your car, ignoring the feeling that follows you. “Isn’t this internal affairs? Since he was in the military?”

“You know that the brass is investigating. But it’s major news, Poppy. The Hard Deck is just off base.”

“But it wasn’t at the Hard Deck?”

“No. He was found in some dumpsters between the hard deck and that diner Rooster likes to go to.”

“Jesus,” you mutter.

Your bag is your shield against the weather as you follow Jake into the hanger. Rooster and Phoenix are talking, eyes moving to the both of you when you walk in. Payback and Fanboy are over by the radio. You frown, eyes scanning the room. Bob normally beats you here, never one for running late. Your skin prickles again, but you can’t tell if it’s from your new paranoia or if it’s worry.

“Where’s Bobby?” You ask, not directing the question at anyone specific.

“Don’t know, kid. Haven’t seen him since the bar.”

Biting your lip at Rooster’s answer you turn to your best friend. “Jake, that picture you sent—”

“Are you worrying about me, Poppy?”

You jump at Bob’s sudden presence. “Please don’t do that.”

His lips tilt up. “You watchin’ those scary movies again?”

Heat dots your cheeks at the fact that he knows you so well. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

Jake snorts from the other side of you. ”Sure, Baby on Board.”

You shake your head. Bagman would get what’s coming to him one of these days, and you’d make sure you’re there to laugh at him. Work trugs on. It’s hard with so many people around. They finally got most of the vans to leave the entry. Maverick’s waiting for you when you land your super hornet. Gut sinking at the concern written on his face.

“I’ve heard you had a rough weekend.”

You shrug. “It wasn’t great.”

“Well, I’m sure this will be the cherry on top.” He sighs at your crestfallen face. “Come on, Cyclone is waiting for you.”

You follow him until you're outside Admiral Simpson’s office. The military police standing outside the door usher you in, you look back at Maverick who only nods at you in encouragement. Slowly you sink down into the seat offered to you. Can they hear your heart beating?

“Poppy?”

You glance to meet the concerned gaze of your superior. Clearly, he’s been trying to gain your attention for a while.

“Yes sir?”

“Are you alright?”

You pause, thinking about your answer. “No, sir. Not really.”

He nods. “We’ll make this quick then.”

It was, in fact, not quick. They talked in circles. Asking the same questions, only rewording them to try and confuse you. You aren’t sure why they had you in for questioning in the first place. Who the fuck ran their mouth? You aren’t a killer. In the given situation, you had been the victim. How did you know the victim? Did you see him after that night? Did what he did upset you? Where were you the night he died? It’s exhausting, and you’re ready to go home. Your time being questioned by the police after Lisa had died wasn’t even this strenuous. You’re damn near in tears when they finally let you go. You lean against the wall, your breath ragged.

“Do you really think she had anything to do with it?”

There’s a scoff, a chair scraping, probaby Cyclone standing to his feet. “No, I don’t.”

The sudden sound of your phone ringing next to your head startles you awake. How annoying it is that you’re so jumpy lately. Squinting, your eyes move to the nearest clock. Fuck, you were supposed to meet everyone at Maverick’s. Too late now.

You swipe to answer, assuming it’s Jake ready to chew your ass out for not showing up. “Look, Bagman, I’m sorry I did—”

“Hello, Poppy.”

“Um. Do I know you?”

“You tell me.”

You think, trying to place the voice. It sounds a little distorted. “I have no idea.”

“Scary night, isn't it? With the murders and all, it's like right out of a horror movie or something.”

“Alright, Mickey, giving yourself away now.”

“Do you like scary movies, Poppy?”

“What’s that thing you’re doing with your voice, Mick? Can’t tell if you're trying to be mysterious or if you’ve recently started smoking a pack a day.”

“What's your favorite scary movie?”

“Don't start. You know what it is.”

“And what’s that?”

“The Conjuring.”

It’s silent for a beat too long, you think he hung up on you. “The one with the doll?”

You huff. “No, that’s Annabelle. I’m talking about the one with the 5 girls. They’re house is haunted by that demon witch. You know, with the creepy tree.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, walking around your couch and into the kitchen. “Guess because people are way scarier than ghosts are. It’s easier to watch make believe.”

“Any good slasher flicks?”

“Come on, as if.” You scoff.

“Why not?”

“Because,” you laugh, “they're all the same. It's always some stupid killer stalking some blonde girl — who can't act worth shit — who always runs up the stairs when she should be going out the front door. They're lame as fuck.”

You look at your phone this time when it gets quiet. Nope. He’s still there. A frown takes over your face when you realize it says unknown. Why did you answer an unknown caller?

“Are you alone in the house?”

“Mickey, you are the fucking worst, you know that?”

“ Maybe that's because I'm not Mickey.”

“No? Who are you then?”

“The question is not who am I. The question is where am I?”

“So where are you?” You don’t know if you're brave or if you’re stupid. You're eighty-two percent sure it's Fanboy on the phone. So without waiting for him to answer you walk back outside. You stand on your porch for a minute looking around. It’s twilight. The sun is almost gone. Enough shadows to hide in, but still, you’re able to see. You walk down the driveway, around your car. Nothing. “Look, Mickey or not, I don’t care for the game you’re playing. Call someone else next time, alright?”

You walk back inside, making sure the door is locked behind you. Feeling less brave, you walk around and make sure all the doors and windows are locked. Still. Maybe you should call Jake? Maybe Bob? Neither would really blame you. Your neighbor was just murdered after all. Might tease you about watching scary movies. But how do you explain the call? Why would Mickey call you from an unknown number? You catch the date. It’s nearing Halloween. Maybe it’s only a prank call? Your mind goes back to the masked figure in the park. People do weird shit around Halloween.

You’ve got a weird feeling. Scrolling through your contacts you hit Fanboy’s number and listen to it ring. You're surprised when he doesn’t answer right away. He’d answer right away if it was a joke, right? Right? The ringing stops, but you don’t hear anything. Just some rustling. Your grip tightens on the phone.

“Mickey?”

Lightly, so lightly you barely make it out. “Help me.”

“Mickey, this isn’t fucking funny.”

More rustling and faint groaning. The sounds come to a stop, the groaning turning into a gurgling. Oh my god. Oh my god. Panic sets in. You need to call the police, you need—someone picks up the phone.

“See you around, Poppy.”

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd slasher fic #scream au #top gun: maverick fanfic

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