#she uses the ice cream stock as wall decorations

[deafeninggardenerpanda]

a variety of mage sisters related doodles. i was going to post these when they were Finished but i changed laptops sometime ago and have been unable to find the files (they're definitely there Somewhere on my computer. Somewhere)

the houses were intended to be for a comic, which i might still do but why not post them anyways. if anyone can competently read my handwriting you get to enjoy the details of each of their houses

usually with mage sisters gijinkas i've found people clothe them as if their element is the climate they live in (francisca dresses like someone who would live somewhere cold, with furs and layers, and flamberge dresses like someone who would live somewhere hot, with more airy/breathable clothing). i wanted to go the opposite direction, with the mages embracing being their element. i thought flam would love to feel like a furnace at all times, while fran would be the one with more airy elements. zan isn't here, but she has some armor and large metal jewelry in order to conduct her electricity through her. i used the same thought process when designing their houses (flam lives in a big oven, fran lives in a big freezer, zan always has an electric flow running through her metal floorboards)

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt. 

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain. 

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler. 

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black. 

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets. 

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over. 

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes. 

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.” 

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise. 

“That one was close by.” 

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.” 

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her. 

“Do you see that?”  

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all. 

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club. 

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair. 

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air. 

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings. 

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side. 

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail. 

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed. 

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers. 

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice. 

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving. 

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one. 

“I’m-I’m a mated male.” 

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd. 

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head. 

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him. 

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color. 

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind. 

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood. 

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master. 

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate. 

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right? 

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back. 

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed. 

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one. 

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean. 

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.” 

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously. 

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.” 

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him. 

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean? 

His mind — I can’t get into it. 

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor. 

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights. 

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold. 

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain. 

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious. 

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves. 

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving. 

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all. 

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle. 

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears. 

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her. 

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate. 

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth. 

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them. 

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!” 

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates. 

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold. 

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate. 

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process. 

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now. 

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse. 

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet. 

He heard the rush of air a second too late. 

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch. 

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold. 

Gods, she was beautiful. 

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore. 

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes. 

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” 

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement. 

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.” 

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her. 

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said. 

…I see your point. Cassian muttered. 

Be careful around this one. 

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female. 

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression. 

You think?! Azriel all but growled. 

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time. 

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection. 

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside. 

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel. 

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real. 

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently. 

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing? 

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow. 

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them. 

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind. 

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked. 

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.” 

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.” 

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?” 

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?” 

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise. 

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib. 

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her. 

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.” 

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world. 

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves. 

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on. 

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick. 

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.” 

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings. 

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation. 

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind. 

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail. 

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold. 

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them. 

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed. 

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen. 

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose. 

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.” 

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor. 

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home. 

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body. 

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail. 

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors. 

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had. 

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.  

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness. 

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep. 

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it. 

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could. 

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little. 

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors. 

[the-kr8tor]

High on the Feeling

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Summary: Hobie goes to the dentist and you leave with a very giggly and sweet Hobie high on anesthesia.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw blood, cw food mentions, talks of marriage, lovestruck! Hobie, fluff.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

You've practically flipped through every single magazine in the dentist’s waiting room while you wait for Hobie. He's been complaining about the annoying ache in his molar that has hindered him from doing his responsibilities for the past few weeks. And after some convincing on your end (and a lot of smooches and coddling), he finally accepted that he needed a tooth extraction.

Now, you'd think that with his abilities that a regular ol' anesthesia wouldn't even work on him. But judging from the lack of swearing and screaming behind the tooth shaped door, you and Hobie's hypothesis were dead wrong.

You pick at your nails while you wait, and listen to the cheery pop song that's starting to make you more annoyed than the hospital-like smell of the place. The walls are painted stark white with a bunch of Ikea bought shelves perched on it where a bunch of teeth related decor sits and a handful of picture frames filled with stock photos of smiling people. You feel unnerved by the choice in decoration. Couldn't they just put infographics on how to properly brush your teeth like a normal dentist?

As the thought passes by your mind, the tooth shaped door opens and out comes Hobie stumbling over his own feet. Boots stomp loudly on the tiled floors, and you immediately run towards him to catch his flailing body.

Thankfully, you catch him in time, his head falls on your shoulder as his arms fall limp on his sides. His muffled groans reverberate, making you turn towards the rushing dentist assistant with her hands frantically pushing a wheelchair that you surmise was supposed to be Hobie's ride out.

“Is everything okay?” You ask both the nurse and Hobie, who's basically laying his entire weight on you. You feel his drool leaking onto your shirt. Or his shirt for that matter.

“I'm sorry, he just launched himself out of the wheelchair!” She sighs tiredly. “He keeps saying that London needs him. And that he's Spider-Man.”

Your eyes widen for a second before fixing your expression. “...Oh,” you say, laughing nervously. You put your arms under his armpits to hold him better. But it doesn't make it any easier to carry all 6 feet and three inches of Hobie. “How did it go? Is he alright? Except for being a drama queen.” You joke so that the woman forgets what Hobie told her.

Fortunately, she chuckles. “Yeah, the procedure went well. Although, he was a lightweight with the anesthesia. Like he was out out.”

“Really?” You furrow your brows questioningly while you hobble towards the wheelchair to sit him down or your hold on him will fail since he's tethering to the side now. “I thought you might've needed more of it than less.”

“Us too, he's just a bit loopy but he'll be okay after a few hours.” She helps you put Hobie on the chair, he falls unceremoniously on it with a clatter of metal. “I suggest you drive him home.” She winces when Hobie mumbles something incoherent with a giggle right after. He looks like a happy camper.

“Yeah, for sure.” You think he looks adorable with him looking like he's high up in cloud nine. He seems fine except for his droopy eyes and mouth, and all the drool pooling in the corner of his lips. At least he's not in pain anymore. Taking a handkerchief from your jean pocket, you gently dab at the corner of his lips, to which he hums appreciatively. “Thank you, I'll take it from here.”

She smiles as she hands you the push handles of the wheelchair over to you. “Of course—oh, I almost forgot. We kind of promised him ice cream.”

“Coconut!” Hobie suddenly yells, perking up from his seat with wide eyes. The other people waiting in the room jumps from their seats. If something bad happens to him because of the anesthesia, you're going to sue this place to the ground. You place your hand on his shoulder, which he immediately calms down and looks up at you with stars in his eyes.

“Coconut ice cream to be exact.” The nurse gives you an apologetic look.

“Good thing I know where to get some.” You smile down at Hobie, only to find him boyishly smiling up at you.

“You're pretty.” He whispers breathlessly like you've taken the air from his lungs. His hand holds the back of yours, patting it softly. He looks as handsome as ever even with a cotton ball shoved in his mouth.

“Thank you, Hobs, you're pretty too.” You feel like melting on the spot as he smiles at you. “Let's go home first and then I'll get you a whole pint.” Hopefully he'll be sober by then, although you're loving his lovestruck gaze on you.

“Home?” He asks while you push him towards the exit.

“Yeah, we live together, Hobie.” You giggle, nudging the top of his head with your chin. The bells hanging above the door jingles when an attendant opens it for you. The cooling autumn air greets you and Hobie.

“Woah.” He sighs like he couldn't believe your words. “We married?”

You pause right next to the van, heart squeezing in your chest. “Oh, Hobie.” His question is the most adorable thing you've ever heard.

“Oh no,” he utters like he hurt you. Stumbling out of the chair, he turns towards you to rub your arms just like he always does whenever you need comfort.

“Sit down, Hobie, you might fall—” His hands cradling your cheeks stop you from continuing. You see his eyes well up with tears, pretty hazel eyes glimmering under the afternoon sun. “Oh, baby, don't cry.”

“We're not married?” His lips wobbles, “that's bonkers.”

“Do you want us to be—?”

“Yes.” He says before you could finish your sentence. You hold him by his waist, helping him with his balance.

You chuckle with a soft smile, hand reaching up to rub your thumb along his chin as you peck the tip of his nose. “Tell you what, we'll talk about it in the car.”

“Really?” Hobie's eyes light up. You've only seen him like this whenever he gets home early on patrol only to see you waiting for him happily.

“Yes really. We’ll feed our guests coconut ice cream.”

He drops his head back, chuckling deeply. You raise his head back up in fear of him choking on the cotton ball. Once his head is upright on his neck once again, he grins at you. “You know ‘m Spider-Man, right, love?”

Your guffaw echoes around the parking lot, “off you go in the van, Spider-Man.” Guiding him towards the van, you turn the corner to open the passenger door for him.

Hobie takes a big whiff, and you look on with an endeared smile. “I smell pine.”

“Yeah, it's the scent thing we bought at the gas station.” You point at the swinging 2d pine tree in the rearview mirror, other hand placed on the small of his back, making sure that he doesn't fall.

“I don't fancy pine.” He pouts uncharacteristically, making you clamp down your lips to quiet your giddy laughter.

“It was the only thing available. We'll get a new one, okay?” Kissing his shoulder, ready to guide him on the seat, he leans in for a proper one but you move away before he could. He pouts again, brows fully knitted together. “Sorry, but we're in public, Hobs, and you have a bloody cotton in your mouth.” You really want to kiss him, you really do, but he probably can't tell his right from his left right now.

Hobie scrunches his nose, hand reaching up his mouth but you stop him halfway before he could yank it out. “Why?” Swatting your hand away, he playfully fights with you.

You continue to fight with his long arms, you two must've looked like a couple of kids baby fighting in the middle of the parking lot with your hands slapping his own away. “Because, you can't— Hobie! You can't take it off!”

“But I want to snog you.” If it wasn't for his haze filled eyes, you'd think that he's playing with you.

“I promise you can snog me as much as you want later when you're well aware of your surroundings—!” His hands manage to grab hold each of your wrists, braceleting his fingers around them. You fight a giggle, acting like you mean business but the amusement in your eyes says otherwise. “Get in the car please.”

“You promise later?” Hobie clicks his forehead against your own. Eyes fully closed, sighing quietly.

Rubbing his back, you let him calm down from his high for a moment. “Yes, I promise—” you hear soft snores. “Are you asleep?!”

After wrangling Hobie into the passenger seat, making sure that his seatbelt is properly settled, you finally pull out of the parking lot. Once you manage to get back on the road, you glance towards Hobie, who's looking out the window with his face squished on the glass.

“You okay over there?” Patting his leg, you get his attention, and you swear he looked like he just realized you were in the car with him when his entire expression lit up like a billboard in New York. “I wish I had a camera right now.”

“What for?” He places his head on the head rest, cheek smooshed on the leather, eyes sparkling as he looks at you softly.

“To take a picture of you.”

“I want to take a picture of you.” He says softly, “a million pictures of you.”

“Can one of those pictures be with you too?” You grin, trying to focus on the road ahead instead of looking at the adorable sight next to you.

“If you want to.” His eyes flutter close, but he's clearly fighting sleep.

“Well, I want to.” You stop the car when the light turns red, a perfect opportunity to hold his hand. “You can nap if you want. I'll wake you up when we're home.”

“I want to pick flowers for you.” You swear your heart jumps out of your chest. “But only your favourites.”

“And I'll get you coconut ice cream as much as you want.”

His eyes closes to the hum of the engine. “I'll share it with you.”

“I know you will, Hobs.” Kissing the back of his hand, you let him go just as when the light turns green.

Hobie has always been sweet on you, but this time, he's beyond just being sweet. Your teeth feel like it's rotting from how incredibly saccharine he is. And you love every second of it, but you wish that the meds wear off so you could be with the same Hobie who hogs the blanket at night and who wakes you up with his cold feet against your thigh.

—

You cuddle close to Hobie whilst you feed him spoonfuls of coconut ice cream on the sofa. The anesthesia has completely worn off, sobering up to his old self. You've given him his pain meds and you've lit up a scented candle for him to relax more. Crumpet sleeps next to him, face snuggled up against his side, unbothered by everything that's happening around her. Your head finds penchant atop his chest as his palm rests above your stomach after he casually flung your shirt over his hand to feel your warmth.

“How's the pain?” You ask, while he draws patterns over your soft skin.

“Throbbin’, a three right now. Nothin' I can't handle though.” He says while you scoop out another spoonful for him. “I think they took more than one tooth.” He says while he opens his mouth for you to feed him another dollop.

“Do you want me to check?” You tease, pointing at his bottom lip with the spoon, looking up at him with a smirk.

“Maybe later,” he squeezes your nose before letting go with a chuckle. “What else did I say other than tellin' people my secret?”

“They didn't believe you anyway, thanks to the meds.” A drop of ice cream falls from the bowl down to your hand, licking it off, you let the sweet treat melt in your mouth after giving it a taste. He looks at you like you're the dessert. Smiling, you perch both of your legs on his lap, to which he just grins wider at. “You really want to know?”

“Was I that embarrassin’?” Hobie nudges the crown of your head with his nose to tell you that it's his turn to be fed. Arm pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Blackmail worthy,” you joke, you move to take another mouthful of ice cream but he beats you to it by taking your wrist to lead the spoon towards his mouth instead. “Rude.” You giggle and he pinches your side.

“C’mon, tell me.” He wipes away a bit of cream from the corner of your lips with his thumb, which he quickly licks away, flustering you in your seat. He smirks victoriously, eyebrows raising smugly. He knows what he's done.

“Fine,” you laugh, pushing at his chest lightly. “you asked if we were married. And you cried when I said no.”

“That's… the right reaction.” He tilts his head in the same way like he's hiding a surprise for you. The last time he did this was when he got you your favourite pasta from a restaurant across the city.

You narrow your eyes at him. “What do you mean?” Your heart thuds loudly in your chest.

“Even my high self knows about it.” He side glances at you, while you're left pondering what he meant, he takes the bowl of ice cream from your hands. “My turn to feed you, lovie.”

“Hobie,” your eyes shimmers under the cinnamon smelling candle light, you hug his middle with a shaking arm. “What do you mean?”

He makes a face, shrugging while a bright smile spreads across his face. “Nothin', love.”

You laugh giddily, waking up Crumpet from her nap. “Okay then—wait, you're fucking with me aren't you?” Narrowing your eyes, you shut your mouth as he tries to feed you a scoop.

“Open up,” Hobie holds the spoon up for you, winking as you gaze at him softly. You still don't open your mouth, so with a glint in his eyes, he leans close to you, smashing his lips to yours, tasting the coconut on your lips while you laugh against his lips as the kiss turns from a playful one to a gentle, loving kiss.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @/mushroom-graphics-allotment

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Auge (Kingdom of Ichor)

Age- 32 (immortal)

Location- New Olympus, Olympius (The Royal Palace)

Personality- She's a comfortable loner who values time to herself, but doesn't actively avoid people. She's self-aware, independent, empathetic, & loyal to those she cares about. She's aromantic and single.

Auge comes from a well liked family in the pantheon. Her older sister is Alectrona (goddess of the sun & morning) while her fraternal twin sister is Anatole (goddess of sunrise). Auge & her twin are part of The Horae.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of first daylight her other powers/abilities include limited photokinesis, limited circadian manipulation (as it relates to dawn), and limited aerokinesis. She's at her most strongest in the hours of 4 am through 6 am.

Auge lives in an apartment suite at the royal palace on Mt. Olympus. The interior design is a pastel daydream of blue, pink, light yellow, white, & lavender. There's flowy silk curtains, decorative knit blankets, and cotton furniture. On the walls of her bedroom, it's covered in wallpaper with a design of skylarks, sing thrushes, robins, & blackbirds.

She likes working the early hours at the palace's gift shop before it opens, mainly doing stock and inventory.

Notable features of Auge's physical appearance includes a septum piercing, understated make-up, as well as styling her hair in various crochet hairstyles which she does on her own.

A go-to drink for her is the homemade banana almond butter smoothies she makes. She also likes white tea, almond milk, ginger lavender iced tea, ginger ale, sparkling peartinis, & botanical beer. Her usuals from The Roasted Bean include a small iced tea, a large chai latte, and an olympian sized vanilla sweet cream cold brew.

After her quick shift at the gift shop, she'll spend the rest of her morning jogging through the main courtyard of the palace.

Far from the only divine pair of twins in the pantheon, Auge and Anatole are as different as night & day. Aside from when the group as a girl's night out, Auge prefers her me time, soaking in all the hours to herself. She finds it annoying when her sisters try to invite her out to spend time with the family that has two of the most revered light deities- Hyperion (Titan god of heavenly light) and Helios (Titan god of the sun).

She usually gets around through use of her bike and public transportation.

In The Horae, Auge is closest to Arktos (goddess of the night sky & constellations) and Nymphe (goddess of self-care).

A guilty pleasure for her are the hash browns from The Hearthside Diner. She'll sometimes order six at a time!

She loves the homemade brown sugar scrub masks that Nymphe makes!

Auge is a proud cinephile! Her home entertainment system is always in use through her extensive DVD collection. She also visits the cinema a few times a month where she saves the ticket stubs in a photo album. Auge loves watching dramas & tragedies- opting for films that are spoken in Greek. She's also a frequent visitor of the annual Athens Film Festival as well as some of the smaller indie movie festivals.

She loves when her big sis brings over homecooked meals- her personal favorite being the orange glazed fried chicken and fluffy buttermilk waffles.

Auge also frequents a beauty supply store in the Chant du Cygne neighborhood to buy packs of crochet hair, twists, faux locs, & braids.

She can't go to sleep without her plush stuffed skylark (which is named Toffee). Auge won it at a game at the Lunarworld Theme Park, where she went with Taygete & Arktos.

A go-to thing she loves getting from The Bread Box is the monte cristo sandwich along with a roasted quinoa salad.

In the pantheon Auge's also friends with Hesychia (goddess of quiet, stillness, rest, & silence), Ioke (goddess of pursuit, tumult, & battle rout), Nárkosi (goddess of sedation), Palioxis (goddess of backrush & retreat), and Taygete (one of The Pleiades).

She loves the Olmorfia's plushful pastel line of soft hued nail polish. Some of her favorite shades are "hue to the artist" (purple pastel), "powder pose" (a blush pastel pink), "white tea" (a light grayish white pastel), & "coasting skies" (a light baby blue pastel).

Auge loves snacking on her homemade trail mix of dark chocolate chips, chia seeds, sundried dates, roasted walnuts, and cashews.

Her all time favorite film is Μια υπόσχεση θλίψης (A Promise of Sorrow).

Daylight Savings Time is unofficially her favorite holiday!

Auge's aware of the slow growing MGM movement, but she personally doesn't mind her status as a minor goddess. She loves the freedom her status allows to live a mostly anonymous life.

She opted against modeling for Zeus' lingerie line Heavenly Spark. Auge's the only one of The Horae to do so.

She's been thinking about adopting a kid on/off for the past few years.

In her free time Auge enjoys birdwatching, swimming, reading, knitting, yoga, listening to music, scrapbooking, photography, going to museums, bowling, fishing, kayaking, and baseball.

Her & her sisters LOVE eating breakfast for dinner. Auge's signature dish is crab-and-avocado eggs benedict topped with shiitake mushrooms.

"Daylight reveals color; artificial light drains it."

[minkmousesworld]

Hi could I request for a Daki x reader that the reader has the same type of personality as tanjiro, and gets angry when someone flirts with daki.And daki loves both kind and angry side of the reader. I Don't know if its up to me or its up to you that this will be NSFW🔞 but if its not a problem that i kind want this to be nsfw🔞. Love your headcanons have a great day. Stay safe everyone.

hello, sweetie! thank you for your request♡ you didn't specify au, so I chose it myself. feel free to send another request if you want a different au!

Modern AU: Daki x Reader [SFW & NSFW🔞]

"I'm not jealous"

warnings: "soft but not" reader, jealous, a mix of scenarios and headcanons, smut under "🔞👑🔞" & "🔞👑♥️"

You couldn't call yourself an evil person. Or even irritable. It was as if you were born to be a kind and caring ray of sunshine, returning candy to children and taking cats out of trees.

Of course, everyone has their "moments", but you hid your own deep enough that others did not notice.

You have always preferred to smile, solve things peacefully and behave not aggressively.

Aggression is the way of the weak, right? Why be aggressive when you can be friendly? Everyone will get what they deserve.

Even if you did not believe in such words, the environment that adheres to the morality of "everyone will be rewarded", put a certain imprint on your personality, making everything less evil and dangerous.

Daki didn't really believe in such "sugar words". The most cunning and the strongest survive.

With her bright nails, pink phone cover, and stockings that she kept taking off because she hated them, Daki was as provocative and aggressive as a "cute girl from a not-cute family" could be. Although she wasn't physically the strongest, her cunning and charm were enough to be considered a dangerous opponent.

No one dared cross her path.

But even if people were constantly wondering if Daki had forced you to start dating her through "blackmail or threats of violence", you loved Daki.

And you knew that she truly loved you, even if you weren't a "good match" for the people around her.

Daki loved you, even though people said she should have chosen someone more... appropriate to her status. Usually she was rather rude to send people and be sarcastic when they climbed into their business.

Although she was undoubtedly no less surprised than others at her infatuation, when you, instead of hitting the offender and stopping similar situations in the future, preferred to calm and negotiate.

Daki never understood how she had fallen in love with someone so gentle and peaceful.

"All you have to do is buy a van and stop washing your hair, because you are already the epitome of 'Make love, not war!'"

"Daki, honey…"

But Daki loved that part of you. Your disdain for useless aggression delighted her rather than repelled her, even if she didn't agree with you on some issues. After all, perhaps your (strange) thinking has its positive side, even if it doesn't suit her?

Daki considered your thinking strange not only because of your peaceful moods even towards obviously hostile people and animals, but also because of your aggressiveness.

It is particularly aggressive.

This was a regular incident at first — people wanted to see if the information that you were dating was true. The more reserved and less modest asked directly, the less reserved and less modest... "went straight", focusing on the reaction.

What is the easiest way to cause jealousy? Flirting. And if they were rightly wary of Daki's reaction, then you… No one was afraid of you.

What can you make of the worst? Will you shake your head in displeasure? Will you say that you can not do this? You are more harmless than rabbits, which only the grass is afraid of.

It was safer to provoke you.

Until you left a bruise on the skin of the guy who tried to touch Daki while flirting.

You didn't want to hurt them! This is an accident! You are absolutely harmless!

You just didn't expect that someone would be smart enough to try to touch your girlfriend in your presence without permission. It was self-defense.

Even when you wrapped your hands around the collar of a very tall guy's shirt and asked him in a soft, calm voice not to disturb your girlfriend anymore.

Or when one of the girls explicitly flirted with Daki, hinting at sex, and you politely asked not to do so again. It's uncivil to flirt with a lady who already has a partner.

You weren't jealous.

You just didn't like this behavior towards Daki, because your girlfriend should be treated with respect and, at the very least, not try to start a romantic relationship with her while you are dating.

Daki said the opposite — that despite your jealous nature, she loves you, giggling playfully. You continued to deny her silly accusations of jealousy.

You weren't jealous.

You trusted her completely, and you certainly weren't jealous of the people who seemed to be around her all the time, especially those who didn't just hang out with her with harmless intentions of making friends.

Daki, on the other hand, saw your jealousy and dissatisfaction with the attention she received from other people.

She was sure that you had a gentle and patient nature, and has already accepted that she is now dating an "angel", but the angel suddenly turns out to be quite an earthly creature. You just didn't see what Daki looked like when she first noticed your jealousy.

She so obviously enjoys your reaction and emotions when again "some loser" tries to flirt with her. And you're kind of ashamed that you react so violently to such harmless things, but you just don't like this attitude from other people.

Although Daki likes to play on your nerves and see you territorial and jealous, she knows when to stop.

At least, she hopes she knows.

Your mind will always be a mystery to her, and Daki tries to think like you would, but she would rather hit the offender than hold out the "flower of peace". Therefore, in the intervals between flirting with you and leading an active social life, she tries to figure out what needs to be done so that this is a "red signal" for you to end your relationship.

"If you were offered a million dollars for letting a kitten out on a deserted street during severe frosts, would you agree?"

"Daki, honey…"

The way she tries to tease you by using others, how obvious it seems to be some kind of cunning plan that no one understands.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Are you jealous?"

No one dares to flirt with Daki after you get mad at one of the unlucky fans.

🔞👑🔞

warnings: rough sex, bite / marking, mention of public sex, petting, slightly smut

Daki likes to provoke you not only for the sake of reaction, but also for the sake of thrills.

She doesn't mind soft sex, but there's something exciting about biting her neck, or leaving marks on her chest and collarbone, or bringing her to another orgasm so that she screams out whose girl she is.

Even if your passionate impulses make her wear stockings to hide the marks on her thighs.

There is nothing wrong with teasing your jealous nature, if after you do not hesitate in the idea of "starting foreplay in the subway". Daki will not call herself a fan of public sex, but there is nothing wrong with you touching her breasts, getting your fingers under her black bra, or getting under her panties.

Or grab her arm and push her against the wall, biting her almost painfully. Daki knows that she can push you away and you'll listen to her, but it's just so exciting when you're so annoyed that you're ready to take her right now, in a human desire to possess her.

That you are not so reserved and peaceful when someone flirts with her. She's your girlfriend, right?

🔞👑♥️

The club's bathroom smells strongly of smoke and sickly sweet, cheap perfume.

Daki, playfully kicking you with her foot, shamelessly teases you, telling you how that cute guy was staring at her all the time you were in the park, or how that cute girl was making eyes at her while you went for ice cream, and was already intending to go to Daki and get a phone number.

"And what will you do? Will you thank them for looking out for me?"

One day, she will definitely drive you crazy with her caustic words.

"I swear, I didn't even think before that I could go so crazy with feelings. You're just a ticking time bomb"

Daki only smiles coquettishly in response, comfortably wrapping her arms around your neck, and spreads her legs, causing the skirt to lift higher, exposing her hips.

"Then why don't you take care of your feelings?"

It's almost cute the way she shivers under you, trying to scratch your back, and whispers to you to stop acting so jealous.

You deliberately don't touch her, leaving touches on her sensitive thighs decorated with your hickeys and on her breasts — red and irritated from the stimulation.

Daki is almost on the verge of starting to caress her clit on her own, pulling her wet panties aside, but you deftly grab her hand, not letting her touch her body, and passionately kiss.

Daki bites you in return, but squeezes your hair and doesn't let you break the kiss. And unsuccessfully tries to pull her hand out of your grasp, fidgeting in place to get at least some satisfaction.

With a little pressure on her panties, you pull away from your wild lover — ruddy, panting, dissatisfied and angry.

"Look, honey", you whisper, licking your bitten lips, "didn't you tell me I was jealous? Well, now let's show everyone how jealous I am. With your moans, of course".

[mirkysconcubinefiction]

I Thought You Should Know 2

Part 2.

Part 1 HERE.

Notes in part 1.

Before:

This time when Superman caught you he held you close and wrapped his arms around you before flying away with you clinging to him and crying because you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Awareness came with a background of arguing and a sinfully - sinfully - soft mattress. Tugging the blankets up and over your head you snuggle into your pillow and doze.

    You've grown up with yelling and lived in places that were noise 24/7 and presumed the arguing was the neighbors. A quiet falls over your cocoon and it hits you... your hotel room had a  mattress that was as stiff as plywood. 

    The bed dips and you tug the sheet down from your face and take in the warm tangerine color walls, dark wood molding and the bedside table was a rustic style piece of furniture. Turning over you're startled to find Clark Kent standing with a tray of food but more surprising was the man sitting on the bed in a sharp charcoal suit. 

    Curious, you lift the blanket and peer down at yourself.  You were wearing your underwear... you guess it was bettered than being naked. "Rest assured Miss ****, your virtue is safe."

    "Lex!" Snapped Clark with a glare before he turned to you and floundered for what to say before pushing the tray out, "Coffee?"

    "What happened?" Your brain felt muffled and you can remember bits and pieces and jumping off a ledge... "Shit, did I try to kill myself again?" You sit up and the blankets pool at you waist uncaring of your bra that was all lace and completely inappropriate for your type of job. 

    "Again?" The tray is set down on a bedside table and Clark was crawling to you, grabbing your arms, checking your bare wrists, as if he hadn't seen them before you were tucked in half-naked. "**** we talked about this."

    "Settle down." Lex heaved himself up with a sigh and peered down at the two of you, "Clark brought you here, you were hysterical and I gave you a sedative and while you were high out of your mind you chose my,"

    "Our." Clark snapped but the other man continued on without missing a beat.

    "Bed to make your nest. You had this loon," a finger pointed at Clark who look aghast, "Rip off your corset because, and I quote, I can't catch it rip it off. As you spun in a circle trying to reach for the laces."

    "I kind of panicked and ripped it off. Sorry." 

    "He's not sorry, he burned the thing in the fireplace."

    "Secrets Lex! Married couples know how to keep secrets!" Clark glared and you watched them bicker back and forth, lost. 

    "Can we not? As hot as it is, I'm too nauseous to join in on your makeup sex." That cut through the weird foreplay the duo had.

    "Get out." Lex tries but you ignore him as usual.

    "Here have some coffee!" Reaching for the tray Clark held onto it without strain. 

    It was a giant mug of black coffee, a small plate with an oversized croissant, little jars of jelly that was a mismatched set from various fancy hotels you knew Clark had a habit of stealing from, a bowl of yogurt topped with fruit and granola, a whole tomato, a cow shaped creamer, and a pig shaped cup with sausage sticking up. 

    "Remind me to never request breakfast in bed. You forgot silverware and cutting the dam tomato." Lex clapped his hands, "I'm off. Don't overstay your welcome and you're barred from all future events." And then he was gone. 

    "He does have a nice ass." You mumble into your coffee that was sweet and perfect. 

    "It makes up for his bad bedside manner." Then Clark is gone... and back with a spoon and knife, a knife he uses to cut your tomato. "There's a bedroom here for you." It's spoken softly and your eyes flick up to meet his then away, the croissant butter soft. "****?"

    "Hmm?"

    "I'm sorry."

    Now you remember, quite convenient when there's a knife in arms reach, "You're not." Strawberry jelly smears heavily. It's flavorful and you chewed slowly, savoring the rich taste. A sip of coffee and a your slurp breaks the silence. 

    "I am. I shouldn't have said that."

    "You thought it and you spoke it. Simple logic."

    "No."

    "You're a whore." You pick up a tomato slice, "You fucked all the girls you cheered with and you bottomed for half your fraternity." It tasted juicy, "Lois Lane wasn't your only fuck buddy at the paper and Green Lantern misses your dick something fierce." From your peripheral it was interesting how embarrassed his face colored.

    "How..."

    "Now Lex," you interrupt. "Lex is a slut but he's a slut with standards like myself. Dick pics help weed out the useless ya know." Sip, "Men - woman - don't care." Sip, "It helps when you get really lonely and you can leave. No strings, no questions." Sip, "If you speak to me that way again," your gaze meets his, "I won't need kryptonite to kill you." 

    "****..."

    "Refill please." You hand over your mug that's half filled and Clark takes it. Quietly he moves off the bed and walks out. 

    The tray is settled at your side and you manage to shuffle over to the edge and stand by the time he comes back. Meeting him part way you ignore the way his eyes rake over you, "I'm..."

    You were tired of apologies and hugged him. He was tall and you settled for wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tight, "Leave it."

    It's never brought up again.

    .

    The formal gala was beautiful. Lights, cameras, ice sculptures, bottles of champagne flowed as did the money for the secret auction, so secret no one was aware there was an auction.

    At least that's what the news had said.

    Lounging on a couch with a tub of ice cream your face is covered in an organic green tea mask, your body has been massaged by a last-minute goddess with hands that deserved to be preserved in the Vatican vault, and your feet was resting on Clark's lap where the man was massaging your left foot with a hand as the other hand tossed Gummi bears.

    You were horrible at catching them with your mouth but the colorful bears decorated the carpet and sofa with a certain pizazz. Elevator doors opened and expensive loafers dragged, "Why are you still here?"

    Spoon dangling from your mouth you pull it out and point it at the tired man who was being rerun on the massive television. "Did you have fun at your party?"

    "That party brought millions to Saint Jude charity foundation."

    "Uhu... and how much really..."

    Lex dismissed you to turn to his husband, "Why is she still here."

    "I'm not putting her out, you can do that." It was said matter of factly with a hint of try it, go on, I dare you.

    Oh this was good, not as good as the ice cream but good.

    "****." You blink up at the tall bald-headed man, "Leave."

    "But the make-up sex."

    You think his eye is twitching, "There is no sex!"

    A pout twitches your lips and your spoon stabs at the ice cream, "But Dom Daddy Master sex is the best sex." Beside you Clark chokes on a gummy and Lex is a thundercloud as he steps closer and closer to you until he's close enough you can smell his cologne. "See," and you glance over at the coughing man who was thumping his chest, "That's hot. You're hot, we should...."

    "Shut up!" And you shut up, sitting back. "Your jokes are not appreciated. Pack your shit and run back to your Captain America. The epitome of all that's righteous and leave..." you snort and quickly cover your nose as ice cream somehow went up there. "Me and mine alone!"

    A napkin is passed to you, "Ignore him. He saw what's in the box and is not too happy right now."

    "Couldn't you have left it behind?" Wiping your nose you take in all that was Lex Luthor and processed what he said, "Why would I run back to that asshole?" Of course Lex had bared his teeth in a very animalistic way and stormed off so you turn to the quiet second half and said, "What was in the box?"

    "A dress." His face loses trace of all humor, "The accessories are a problem, my nose is quite good and you're not that type of person to..." Clark cuts off as Lex returns and all but flings the box at you and Clark catches it and settles it on your lap while taking away your ice cream. 

    You ignore the argument that's caused by that stunt and take in the dented and dirty box that was lopsided and the tissue paper that hung half out. Clark was right, there was a dress balled up on top and you pull it out... it was a familiar dress.

    Black, shiny, skin-tight, one side would cover down the length of your thigh while the other was cut in a way to barely cover your vagina. 

    You knew this dress.

    This was a similar dress you had in your closet from ages ago. It had been the dress you met Steve Rogers in when you had worked another undercover mission as a singer in an underground club. The lights on stage would make the material nearly sheer and showed off your curves and the nipple piercings you had gotten done for the gig. 

    Well... "He knows." Or at least presumes who you are but how? Dropping the dress to the side you go through the rest of the stuff and pull out a pair of killer heels in your size, "Nope." And drop them both atop the dress. Next was a scrap of fabric that took a moment of turning it here and there to realize it was panties, "What the fuck is this?"

    Clark looks pink while Lex scowls but answers, "Thong."

    "This," you shake it like it's flag. "Wouldn't cover an ass cheek. I have a fat ass... the strings would cut across my hips and make me look like a ham hung to dry." That too was dropped and you rummaged around the jewelery, the hair extension that sat wrapped, and an empty clutch. "Stockings? It's cold, these fucker really think I would waltz around and freeze my clit off?"

    "The point was to entice me, your target, or that idiot." Confused, you glance up at the taller man. "Your choker. There's a mechanism that releases a pheromone when you get close enough to your victim. It's potent, it's an ingenious way to get me to leave and hand me over to SHIELD or attract that asshole who was there, dressed to impress and also wearing a wrist watch that had the same scent, my intel says he was hoping to use it on you if you had arrived. Fucker doesn't realize all phone calls are tapped, that was a mistake."

    Rummaging through the box you find rings, bracelets, a pair of studs for nipples - which what the fuck - but no choker. Glancing over at Clark you said, "You said your nose. How does it smell?

    "Musky. I only know about it because HYDRA is interested so they tried to use bait, young bait, to entrap my husband in a scandal. It didn't work, girl scouts don't make penthouse calls at 1am. Thankfully I was home and tossed the girl in the closet before dealing with him."

    "I could have raped that girl." 

    "Lex, no." And Clark was off the couch and crowding his husband who leaned into the embrace with a miserable face and you felt upset. Box plopped on the oddly shaped coffee table you make your way around the duo and bare foot you walk to the elevator door that opens with a soft ping and step on, finger jabbing on the button to the ground floor.

    It was a short trip of quiet, you ignore the dried and cracked gunk that was on your face and stepped out into a lobby with its shiny floor and gold accents. 

    There weren't many people about at this hour except a janitor that was windexing a window and a concierge who stood once he caught sight of you. "Ma'am!"

    "Phone?" You gesture to the old-fashioned looking thing that sits behind the desk. You knew it was a thing installed by Lex that was as private as you could get, and one that no nosey AI could hack into. An alternative option in case he was too lazy to take an elevator to the top floor.

    "I'm sorry but..."

    "Great, thanks, sit and be a good boy as mummy handles something." The man is a stuttering mess as you reach over and take it, plopping it on the high ledge. 

    "Ma'am you can't!"

    Fingers presses into small holes and drag clockwise with each number. "Phone the penthouse, I'm sure Mr. Luthor would be ecstatic over us meeting."

    The concierge, who had his hand on separate phone and was calling security faltered, "Lex Luthor?"

    You smile, green tea dust falling, but before you can utter a comment the line picks up without a greeting, "Brucie poo, remember that favor you owe me? Well I'm collecting." 

    The concierge moves away to stand with the Janitor who had been quick to call him over and tell him to keep his eyes down. Which was for the best since you were walking around in flannel that was oversized, courtesy of Clark. Switching to a different language and lowering your tone you spoke with an unamused Bruce Wayne, while not friendly with Lex, had been highly upset over the use of children as pawns.

    You weren't surprised. 

    The elevator dings and you wave at Clark who jogged to you and you were quick to say your goodbyes, "Why didn't you tell me?" Frowning at the taller man.

    "You're not here, why would we tell you?" And that, that hurt.

    The elevator doors closed and you knew you needed to do something, time was wasting.

    .

    Solid black, it matched the coal around your eyes and the contacts you had struggled to put on. Boots were comfortably strapped up to your knee and you waltzed across a manicured lawn. 

    The cameras were down.

    The dogs had been knocked out.

    Security had been scarce since a good portion had all come down with a mysterious stomach bug. You can't really protect your benefactor if you're shitting your intestines out. 

    Striding up the marble steps that led to a wrap around porch, you tried a door handle and found it locked. A laser took care of that, a nifty little thing you dropped on the ground and waltzed inside, smoke curling into the air from the burned brass and wood.

    Having had memorized the layout you strode to the kitchen, up a flight of stairs, down a hall, up another set of stairs, down another hall and to a bedroom door where you put yourself in a position that your com had instructed. Gun in hand you aim a degree left, swooped right, down center, each bullet piercing through the door and wall.

    Stopping only when your com had said so. 

    You open the door and lean against the door jamb, the bodies on the ground paving a way to a lone man pressed against the corner of a wall holding a gun.

    "Hello honey." He aims and pulls the trigger. The gun jams. "Poor baby," you stalk over. "Let mommy kiss it better."

    From a distance away Superman removes the com in his ear cutting off the scream of the HYDRA operative who had tried to set up his husband. 

    .

    Maybe if your com hadn't been knocked off and landed in a puddle of blood you would have found yourself here, in a chair, at the SHIELD headquarters. 

    Great, just great.

    The chair was uncomfortable so you chose a nice corner to lay down, cross your ankles, and try for a nap. 

    You had gotten as much as you expected from Mr. HYDRA guy which was meh. Not enough info compared to what you had but if you were honest, you weren't there for intel.

    It was just a great excuse to inflict as much pain as you could and death. 

    You hated getting your hands dirty but... yea... getting caught on the back lawn with SHIELD agents storming up to you with guns and K9 was a weird experience. 

    "****." Confirmation that Steve had a really good guess you were you. Ugh. The door closed behind him with a thump and the man strode over. "You can cut the act, I know who you are."

    You sign WHO.

    "I thought you were dead." You yawn, "I knew it was you when I heard you laugh." He pauses as if he expects you to talk. "Superman knows who you are, how do you know him?" Quiet. "Answer me." He sighs, voice changing to one of concern, one you had believed was his true self. "I miss you."

    A hand lifts and you sign QUEEN.

    "****!" 

    Middle finger, no two fingers, point in his direction.

    A hand grips your ankle and you're dragged from the wall, your other free foot hits the ground with a thump, you curl your toes - triggering a nifty backup - and out pops a short knife. Steve let's out a shout as you stabbed him in the leg, once, twice, and his arm that swings to stop you before the man let you go.

    Blood coated the ground and the super soldier stumbled back, "What the fuck ****!" The security that patted you down didn't take all your lovely toys. 

    Hopping to your feet you waved a finger at him and signed BAD BOY. The doors open and two men with guns enter, they try to get Steve to leave but he's a stubborn fuck, "Back off, I've had worse." 

    Just to fuck with him you sign, POISON.

    His eyes go wide and he stumbles out with the two guards and you're left alone once again.

    .

    The fuckery begins when the vents turn off, it takes a while for the air to get stifling and hot but you don't remove your uniform and lay on the ground sweating through your material and the pungent stench of blood has you breathing through your mouth. 

    Stubborn to death you try to ignore the nausea that roils your stomach, a migraine forms at the back of your skull, and your mouth was dry and throat parched.

    Time churns and it's hard to focus so you keep your eyes closed but it does little to help. Maybe this was it? A smile quirks your chapped lips, at least you got to stab Steve, hopefully your knife was dirty and he got an infection.

    When did you close your eyes?

    Breathing was like choking on sand and you can hear the ragged sound of you inhaling deeply and sharply. A shadow hovered above you and you felt a tug and your body lifting before dropping. It's dizzying when your head lifts upwards but thankfully you're gently settled down

    "Shit's adhered to her skin." 

    Was someone talking? No, let you sleep. Closing your eyes you hate that you're jostled as your legs are lifted and plopped on someone's knee.

    "Get me water and ice, her legs up will help with blood flow to the heart."

    Cold seeps through your uniform and the lip of a bottle entices your tongue to move and swish by swish cool water washes away the sandpaper feel of your mouth.

    "Cut it off her." You recognize that voice.

    "The first layer was easy, this is adhered to her skin." Pause, "I've seen this before Captain. You'll rip her skin off, best to wait until she regains conscious and..."

    "She's not HYDRA."

    "But you said..."

    "I know what I said, now get out!" There's a scuffle and a slam. Hands are tugging at the edges where the suit left your skin exposed. Someone had removed your boots and gloves... a sharp tug of pain at your temple reminded you you're wearing a mask that showed off your eyes and your mouth once the second layer was pulled aside. 

    "God dammit." Steve growled, "Fine! We'll do this the hard way!"

    Your fingers curl and you try to move but your legs are heavy and a prickling sensation runs up and down. Move you tell yourself but you can't.

    "All I wanted was a simple yes or no." Something cold presses against your cheek, a pointed tip digging, trying to dig, beneath the seam of material and skin. "This is your fault ****." 

    What?

    Pain causes your back to arch and your right calf to seize, you choke on a scream trying to move away from the slice of the knife as it digs under your skin and not the material but Steve has a firm grip on your chin.

    Blood seeps out and there's a swear from the man and the knife is pulled out. He ignore your whimpers of pain to move a single hand down your body. Skimming over your breasts, sides, sternum, waist, and back up to your throat, "A little less pressure eh?" The blood stained tip pops through the layer, Steve needing to push harder as the material - as thin as it was - was strong.

    The knife carefully drags downward, blood seeping from between the black material, and stills just under your bust line where your waist cincher catches the blade. "Hmm." Cutting straight down, the blade knocking through fabric and the hooks.

    The suit material was adhered to your cincher leaving your stomach bare. His free hand settled on your too warm skin, fingers tracing over the indentations left from the boning and material. 

    He tries to tug at the material but your body shifts with it, "I'll get this thing off you even if I have to skin you."

    Shouting catches his attention but Steve ignores the sound of gunfire, secure in the knowledge he was locked in. The knife veers direction and he slices down the side towards him, gripping the cincher for leverage. 

    Mid thigh Steve is startled when the door to the room flies across the room, knife jerking and slicing deep causing you to cry out, a pitiful cry. "Fuck!" Steve scrambles to cover the wound with his large hand but it does little to stop the blood.

    A hand grips into the back of his neck and tosses him as if he were a rag doll. He hits the wall leaving a crumbling indentation in the concrete. Shaking it off, Steve is prepared for a fight but once the disorientation is shaken off he manages to catch a glimpse of red before realizing he's alone.

    You're gone.

    .

    The bandage on your face and the butterfly band-aid running down your body to yet another oversized bandage at your thigh made it look as if it was bad. "I'm fine." A nurse stands idly to the side and you glance at her, "Tell him I'm fine."

    The him was Clark who was trying to take your temperature for the fifth time in the span of an hour. "You're not fine!" He also sends a look to the nurse who looks on amused, "Tell her she's not fine, a high fever is a sign of infection, God know what germs that cell had."

    "It was a clean cell." You try but Clark takes the opportunity to plop the thermometer into your mouth and you roll it under your tongue. 

    Beep.

    "It went up a degree!" 

    "For fucks sake. Lex!" You yell the other mans name.

    The phone rings at your bedside and you pick it up and hand it Clark who scowls. "Yes Dear." 

    The nurse tip toes closer to fluff your pillows as you settle back. The past few days a whirl wind of adventure. Between SHIELD putting out a warrant for you - both your identities - and fighting with Lex that no he shouldn't call a war against the organization and that you had a plan. Of course bumming it at the Luthor's meant you had a lovely nurse and a personal chef.

    The high life.

    "The husband requests I should leave you alone less I suffer a dry spell." He side eyes you and you hold a hand out to him which he takes and crawls beside you, careful of your body under the sheets. The nurse leaves and the two of you are left alone. "I was so scared. Seeing you there... bleeding..."

    "Me too." You admit, "I shouldn't be surprised but I am. Steve... that's not my Steve."

    His arm pulls you closer, dragging you off your pillow and into his arms. "He was never yours." It hurt but it was the truth. He gently brushes away your tears - it's not fair you still cried for this man - and gently turns your head so you can gaze at him, his touch soft as it hovers above your bandage. "Give us a chance ****."

    "Clark..." your eyes burn with more tears, afraid, you're so afraid. "I can't."

    "He could have killed you and yet he still holds a place in your heart."

    What? "No."

    "He's still there, he lived everyday content with another woman while you were left alone and bitter. Everything you've done to get to this point was because of him. He's still there, in your heart, a parasite, keeping you from moving on and taking a risk." You're  quiet and his normally stoic self turns frustrated and says, "The asshole stabbed you, doesn't he deserve to suffer?"

    "Yes. He deserves to suffer." The anger surged and you used your arm to prop yourself up, "Steve humiliated me. They all knew, fucking knew, and... I still have the fucking dress." Clark frowned, "How could he do that to me, why Clark. Why?"

    "Because he can." You flop back on the mattress and cover your eyes with the heels of your hand and will the hurt to die and your tears to dry. "He's  heartless but you're not."

    "Clark..."

    "No. He never cared ****, he used you while Sharon was away. If it wasn't for the other asshole, Steve would have dumped you at the alter or killed you off and you know that's true. Look what he did to you, you don't think he would have that spy take you out?"

    "No." You choke out and you sniff before a grin curls your lips. "He would have done it."

    "Or the..."

    "No." Sniff, "I hacked his journal. He was going to cause a car accident." Clark went stiff and in the distance you hear a crash, a slam of a door, and you glare at Clark, "You didn't hang up the phone!" It wasn't a question because a moment later the door to your bedroom swings in and the very tall, very angry shadow of Lex Luthor fills the doorway. 

    "****." It was your full name. Your full legal name and you went absolutely still. 

    "Babe..." Clark tries but Lex is a storm cloud as he saunters forward and ignores the pet name only his husband was allowed. 

    "Are you soft in the head?" Lex loomed over you and for the first time you were scared of him. 

    "Lex..."

    "Car accident? You knew he was planning on killing you and you still did nothing." The man didn't have to shout but each word was laced with venom that had your heart skip a beat.

    "I..."

    "Swallowing a bottle of pills isn't what you do when someone plans to murder you." Oh shit, "Jumping head first into missions without backup or extra ammo is not the way one plots revenge." Fuck. "Running off and putting yourself in suicidal situations does nothing but get you killed!"

    "I know."

    "Then why must you be so stupid!"

    "Because I needed to feel something!" You shout, it hurts to sit up but you scramble to do so as Clark assists. "I was stupid, is that what you want to hear? How stupid I was to believe that someone  could love me? Me? That someone would want me for something other than sex? That I was beautiful? Smart? That I was more? Stupid of me to think that a person could think I was worth a commitment and kids and a last name, a home, I was stupid to think I was worth a home, someone who can... can love me..."  it was hard to breath and see as the old hurt rear its ugly head and you can't be strong, dropping your head, spine hunching you press your hands against your eyes, the pressure easing the headache that was throbbed steadily. 

    "Lex, ease off." Clark rubs circles on your back.

    "No. She needs to deal with this and not wallow in self pity."

    "Lex!"

    Sniffing up the snot you wipe your nose and say, "It's not wallowing. I'm not a victim, read the definition asshole."

    "Of course you're not love but crying doesn't get back at someone who wants to cut your break cords."

    Sniff, "Drunk driver." Your eyes itch and you rub them again, "A t-bone."

Clark takes in your red eyes and the flush to your face before looking up to his husband, "Kill him."

    "No."

    "Already on it." Lex says matter of factly. 

    Again you say, "No. Death is too good." 

    Lex sighed, he was ready to snap at you again. "He's enhanced. What's your plan? You can't get close to him like before."

    "He's a conservative man, his reputation is everything to him." You say, "I got a plan to get SHIELD off my back and I'll make public his journals and porn crap."

    Lex frowns, "No maiming? Missing limbs?"

    You shake your head, "No. There's some heavy shit in those journals and secrets about the team. I'll black out the intel from missions but Steve gets off on knowing that the world sees him as this perfect man. A God amongst mortals. He won't know how to deal with it."

    "Alright, ok, we can work with that." Hands continued rubbing circles on your back, "Can I punch him at least?"

    "You're getting your hands dirty?" Surprised, Lex glanced down at you, "Guess he loves you more than me." In response Clark lugged a pillow at him.

    "Punch him twice. One for me and one for you." It comes from you.

    "Break his leg for me." Lex sends you a look but you don't say a word, "Payment for the stitches."

    "Mhm." You'd probably scar too. "Break both legs." You rub at your thigh where it itched.

    "I smell blood." Clark leans over and moves the blanket aside and patches of red bloom on your bandage, your shorts hiked up to V of your thighs. "Lex, get the nurse. You might have popped a stitch."

    "It's ok, I'm ok."

    "No, you're not." 

    The nurse comes in with a first aid bag and your bandage is removed showing that yes, you popped a stitch. It doesn't take long to fix it but you do lean into Clark for comfort. 

    .

    SHIIELD's system is down.

    Their backup of a backup doesn't work, nothing works. Cards danced on the screens, Queens of spades, hearts, diamonds, and clubs bounce up and down, left to right, in no specific direction. 

    They all know whose calling card halted all communications and in a solo room where a group of people who had complete access to everything were privy to a badly drawn cartoon of a queen of hearts card threatening to release sensitive information to earth and Google Earth images of all their safe house locations including their own. 

    Less than a day later SHIELD pulled all their warrants and people in the search of you. 

    An email was immediately sent with your resignation and quickly after that a website was made public with Captain America Secrets on full view and no A.I. or hacker could tear it down. 

    Not with the insane amount of protection you encased it in. Still, you had fail safes in case it was taken down plus the internet where nothing died was quick to copy and paste and you sat back in your hello kitty onsie as the world burned Steve Rogers and the Avengers.

    Tony's PR team was quick to claim it was a hoax and the others had denied all allegations against their own humiliation but you had finally let it go. 

    You had to.

    Looking up as a set of floor to ceiling windows slid open and you watched as Superman flew in and landed. His hair was in disarray, a portion of his suit was torn and blood was splattered on his cheek, not his blood you're sure. "Had fun?"

    A grin is tossed your way and the papers on the coffee table ruffled as the man sped to you and was right there, making your eyes cross. "Beautiful. Perfect. Brilliant. Patient. Crazy. Lovely."

    "Clark, heros say no to drugs." You interrupt his rambling.

    "I'm sober."

    "Meth?"

    "****."

    "Cocaine?"

    "****."

    "Sugar?" There's seconds, time for you to turn your head as Clark leans in, but you hold your breadth as he kisses you. A soft and gentle pressure and it's so sweet.

    "Let me love you ****." his brows press against yours, "Let us love you. Give us a chance."

    No.

    Just no.

    You don't need the extra heartache.

    "Okay." It slips out and you can't take it back. Do you want to take it back? 

    Clark's face is one of excitement and his eyes shine with something that you've seen before, when he looks at his husband and you were a sucker for pain. You can't take it back, "You won't regret it I promise." And with that Clark picks you up and you hold on. 

    "I'm not having sex so you can put me down." You kick your legs because you're almost sure you wouldn't.

    "Oh I know." He walks confidently to the still open window, "We need Lex for that. He has a sturdy desk and sound proof office."

    "Clark!"

    And he jumps, flying off in the direction of his husband's company. It would be a pleasant surprise but at least he was right, that desk was sturdy. 

    End.

Notes:

I can't write sex scenes so there you go. Use your imagination. I picture a spit roast scenario and a very slippery desk.

 I can confirm that Superman kicked Steve's ass, broke his legs - twice - and punched 3 times. Which is why Clark arrived looking disheveled. Also Steve did give as good as he got but Superman is a pretty boy with hopefully good dick (for you the readers sake ;)

[chicago-geniza]

well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs

[dasphinxone]

Book of Nile: Cabin Fever WIP

Like, I need to SIT DOWN AND WRITE THIS OUT INSTEAD OF DOING SNIPPETS THO. I’m sorry y’all, I swear I’m writing a full fic of this. Please don’t kill me.

Booker wanders over and starts organizing the ingredients by type on the dark, marble top counter of the kitchen island. Spices are put together, other dry ingredients lined up. He takes out the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“How many eggs do you need?” he looks to Nile next to him.

“Just one,” comes her muffled voice from where she’s leaning over to take full stock of the lower shelves of the pantry.

He diverts his eyes from the sight of her lean legs and her behind clad in short sleeping shorts. Her braids are piled into a cute, messy bun on top of her head. She already has on one of the aprons she found hanging on a hook in the broom closet. How one of his heavily knit, grey cardigans hangs billowy off of her frame over her shorts and tank top sends his heart beating faster.

She’s always borrowing his clothes. Usually it’s his array of denim shirts or old t-shirts that she cuts down at the bottom to fit her. Yet something about seeing her using his sweater as a robe while baking for him? It screams domesticity.

Booker startles at the feel of Nile’s touch to his arm. “I’m thinking a gingerbread cake? Or cupcakes, if we have a muffin tin,” she frowns in contemplation. “Christmas is just around the corner and gingerbread cookies are so blasé, you know?”

His face lights up. “I think I can legitimately say that I have never had gingerbread in cake form.”

“You are definitely in for a treat!” she playfully taps him on the shoulder with a spatula she’s dug up. “It’ll go faster since Copley hooked this place up with the KitchenMade stand mixer to boot. Though you’re going to have to make a hard decision for me, Book.”

He can’t ever seem to say no to her. Not especially with that beautiful smile lighting up her face. For fuck’s sake, she’s wearing his sweater like she owns it.

He rapidly blinks away any fantasies of how incredible she would look wearing just the sweater by itself. The way it would cling to her curve. Teasing him with barely contained views of her beautifully dark, warm skin. Skin that would glisten with sweat after he’s fucked her up against the wall next to the fridge. Her legs wrapped around his waist and heels digging into his ass while she mercilessly tugs at his hair and calls out his real name. All after he’s balanced her on his shoulders while he’s on his knees, devouring her pussy like he’s on a mission to make her scream and forget anyone else who’s come before him…

Stop it, you fucking pervert! he scolds himself in his native language.

He rapidly drags a bar stool from the  counter to the kitchen island and settles in. Mostly so that she can’t see that he’s already half hard. His black sweatpants don’t hide much.

“What would you have of me, mademoiselle?” he bows his head with a flourish of his hand. When he looks back up, she’s beaming even more.

“Soooo, do you mind having your bagels dry or just with butter in the morning versus with cream cheese?” she holds up two packets of it.

Booker purposely curls his mouth in contemplation. “What do I have to gain from the absence of it on said bagel?”

“Cream cheese frosting for the cupcakes?” she pulls a muffin tin from the cabinet of the island and waves it at him.

Booker arches a brow and leans an elbow on the counter to rest his head in his hand. “Well,” he drawls out, “If you insist on spoiling me with cupcakes ma cher,” he sighs with supposed annoyance, “I guess I shall have to acquiesce.  You may proceed,” he waves in dismissal.

Of course, Nile sees how he’s barely holding in a laugh. “Frosting it is!” she declares. Leaning over the island, she brushes her lips to his stubbled cheek while patting his other one with her free hand. “I knew there was a reason why I love you.”

Booker freezes at her declaration as Nile spins back around to the opposite counter to start. She’s greasing the muffin tin, putting the paper cups into them, spraying those with cooking spray and beginning to hum to herself as she usually does when doing this sort of thing. She appears thoroughly unaffected by what she’s just said. Shimmying her shoulders, she asks if he can fire up one of her playlists from the cloud on his laptop. He’s always had access to her music account, so the request isn’t out of the ordinary.

He's glad he has the excuse to exit the area and go grab his laptop from the den. He’s in need of doing a few deep breathing exercises his various therapists over the years have taught him to do whenever he gets overwhelmed. Except it’s always for the bad sort of overwhelmed. Not a  “Oh my fucking God, this woman has just declared she loves me…except I don’t think she meant it in that sort of context? MERDE, I DON’T FUCKING KNOW.” 

Either way, Booker all but flees the kitchen.

Nile is glad of it. Because FUCK, she just said she loves him. And yeah, she meant it in a “After all of these decades of having your fine ass so devoted to me and watching my six at all times and sharing beds with you since we're the spares and you willingly helping me do my braids and twists installations for hours on end without being all white boy weird about it? I think I could love you for the near eternity we have together. Plus, I think you’re pretty damn capable of fucking ruining me in bed with your, uh, fucking.”

Nile plants her hands on the countertop and drops her head between her shoulders. Her heart is beating fast in her ears and her skin’s tingling. It’s not fear adrenaline coursing through her. Yet it’s also not quite the effervescent sort of high either. It’s all topsy-turvy, confusing feelings that she doesn’t like. Not because she’s afraid of emotions. More that she can’t sort them out at the damn moment. Combined with the fact that it’s just the two of them in this dream of a cabin? For these next few days to up to weeks, depending on the blizzard? That will be…interesting?

Or a fucking disaster where we end up hating each other but are stuck in the same rooms with no escape, she muses to herself.

She’s frozen to death a handful of times. It’s not a bad way to go; after the numbness sets in and you can’t feel your limbs, you just sort of drift off only to wake from death. However, literally catching one’s death of cold in the middle of a snowy storm in the forest would suck due to the lack of relief from dying over and over again. Sure, she could technically leave if things went horribly between them. Yet that would be a stupid as shit decision.

“Are you alright?”

Nile spins around to find Booker once again sitting on one of the barstools up against the opposite counter. Only now does she notice the music playing over the Bluetooth speakers of the small holo-TV mounted on a wall of the kitchen. It’s her favorite playlist, R&B from the 2010s when she grew up. No matter that the music is nearly 200 years old now, it wraps her in a warm aural blanket of comfort. Meanwhile, Booker looks non-plussed and focused on the screen of his laptop before he looks up  at her. His azure eyes full of concern, he scans around the kitchen.

“You sound like you’re having trouble with something.”

She swiftly plasters a wide smile on her face and stabs a finger down at the screen of her holotablet. “There’s a lot of steps of this recipe-”

“I’ll help,” he cuts her off while scrambling up from his chair, “Anything you need, you want, I can, I mean I will do it.”

I’d like for you to eat me out on your knees and fuck me up against one of these counters.

Nile swallows, trying to rid herself of the filthy thought. The thing is, he’s wearing this light blue Henley that’s so tight across his chest that it doesn’t look like he could close up the buttons of it even if he wanted to. There’s a teasing peek of dark blonde chest hair at the low V of the shirt’s neckline she’s struggling to not stare at. On top of that, he’s had the nerve to shove up the sleeves to reveal his forearms.

Instead, Nile closes her eyes and takes a few deep breathes. She hopes it comes off as annoyed with the recipe versus reigning in her self-control to not just jump him and climb him like a tree. 

“The recipe calls for making gingerbread men to use to decorate the cupcakes with, though it’s not necessary,” she breathes out. “Did you want to go the hard or easy route for this recipe?”

Booker grins, eyes meeting hers. “À la dure,” he drawls.

“The hard way?” Nile translates, hoping her breath doesn’t hitch. Is he doing some sort of double-entendre thing just to fuck with her?

He shrugs. “It’s not as though we don’t have the time.” Moving around the counter to saunter up to her side, he looks down at her holotablet. “You far outdo me when it comes to baking, but I think I can manage cookies.” He opens a new tab and searches for a gingerbread cookie recipe. Finding one, he quickly reads over it. “So long as you can ice them?” he holds up the tablet for her to take in the cute picture.

Nile slightly steps away from him. Mostly on account that he smells so good (fresh soap…is that a hint of his usual spicy, citrusy cologne?) and feels so warm with one of his arms flush to hers. “We don’t have cookie cutters here, but you can bake them round and we can ice faces or ornaments on them.”

“It’s a deal,” he holds out a hand to shake hers.

Looks like their project for this afternoon is set.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 5

Title: Neighbours

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

The ‘to do list’ is long and lengthy but not unmanageable.

Inside and outside decorations, picking out a tree and having it dropped off the next day, last minute presents and stocking stuffers to grab, a massive grocery list that includes the usual staples and the ‘extras’ that always make their appearance at Christmas time. The convenience of a big city is one thing she’s always missed; malls with everything you need under one roof, strips of your favorite, eclectic little shops, delivery for everything under the sun. Never having to own a car; Uber and taxis summoned with just one phone call, the subway just a block away. The younger Esme...the one fresh off a shitty first marriage...had loved every second in New York City. That spacious loft -with its exposed brick walls and industrial lighting and Juliet balcony- in Brooklyn, the Broadway shows she’d attend, the high end shops like Tiffany’s, Chanel, and Prada that she’d do little more than browse in; dreaming about all the things she would buy if she was ever fortunate enough to have money to burn. Trips to Central Park; reading a book or sipping a latte while sitting on the edge of the fountain or treating herself to lunch at Tavern on the Green. She’d never been bored; filling every minute of her free time with something new to experience. Taking the subway into different ethnic areas; trying new foods and drink and buying newly discovered -to her- spices and intriguing ingredients to try out at home. And while she’d been alone, she’d never been lonely; always finding ways to keep herself busy.

While it’s nice to come back and spend time in the BIg Apple, she no longer misses it with such intensity. THAT Esme..the one who’d lived in that loft apartment and who’d window shop at the high end retailers...no longer exists. She died almost thirteen years ago; her life coming to end on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It had been time; out with the old, in with the new. And there’d been something so incredibly empowering about it; never returning to either the city or Colorado and having her step father pack up the necessities and ship them to her. Many people would consider it foolish; throwing a somewhat stable and comfortable life away for something so different. A country on the other side of the world, a man she barely knew yet her heart was certain she was in love with, a tiny and cramped apartment outside of Sydney with barely any clothes in the closet and only second hand, mismatched furniture to decorate the place. But it had turned out to be everything she’d wanted; a change in pace and scenery and a life she never knew she was missing out on. That man she barely knew outside of sex quickly proving to be the love of her life; not just a lover, eventual spouse and baby daddy, but her best friend. The one and only person she truly trusted; who’d been so willing to give up his life to save hers and made her feel safe and protected...and LOVED...in ways she’d never experienced before.

Australia quickly became home. Despite the lingering issues from Dhaka -the slow healing process and the financial issues and the worry of retaliation IF word ever got out that he had survived- they’d been happy. Not needing much; enjoying those evenings on the couch, watching television and eating ice cream right out of the container, those trips -as a couple and then newlyweds and eventually with a tiny Millie in her daddy’s arms, the long and quiet -and often post coital- conversations that had become their norm. They’d gone through a hell of an ordeal together; forming a bond that other people simply couldn’t understand. Both of them could have easily died that day; Tyler from his injuries, her due to the decision she’d made to stick around in an effort to keep him alive. After that, they’d sworn to never take a single second for granted; enjoying the ‘getting to know you’ process even as a newly married couple and her with a baby growing in her belly. It hadn’t been a conventional start to things; those five days in that cramped and dirty hotel room in Dhaka followed by an unexpected little bundle and her decision to give up her old life. But it had worked. THEY had worked. Despite all the odds stacked against them and everything that said they shouldn’t. The ordeal they’d survived giving them an appreciation of each other; putting down that foundation of respect and mutual awe that everything else could -and would- be built upon.

As amazing as it all sounds -finding the love of your life, discovering your own slice of paradise, starting a family- it’s work. Love and everything that comes with it is a lot of work, in fact. It’s arguments over both stupid shit and important issues; it’s hurt and anger and bitterness due to miscommunication or simply not taking the others feelings into considering. It’s learning how the other works and functions so you can be the one to provide comfort, stability, and aid; patience and deep rooted concern and the desire to keep them safe and healthy driving you.

Lust is one thing; immense physical attraction extremely important and definitely an added bonus. But at the end of the day, it’s other forms of intimacy that keep things alive and well; the simple act of holding hands while sitting on the couch or even driving in the car, the unexpected hugs and kisses, the little things you do for one another without even thinking, the teasing and the laughter and the conversations. It’s one thing to love someone and physically WANT them, it’s another to actually ENJOY them; their company and their smile and the sound of their voice and the way they cheer you up even on the worst days. How they talk you through hard times and how quick they are to dry your tears and want to make things right; willing to do anything and everything within their power to make you happy and to feel wanted and appreciated. It’s all those things that keep things going even when they feel like they’re falling apart.

******

“Mum!” TJ calls, as he bounds down the stairs and through the immense space that make up the living and dining areas; an easy and clean flow directly into the counter. “Check it out! You gotta see my outfit?”

With a mug of tea pressed to her lips, she glances up from the spiral notebook in front of her. It’s one of many that usually take up residence in one of the kitchen drawers; a different colour cover indicating which kid it is assigned to, two for things that are needed when it comes to household items and repairs, another for things like groceries and personal products. She’s always been organized, but something ‘snapped’ over the course of the last five years; an obsessive of sorts when it comes to keeping affairs in order.

“What the heck are you wearing?” she inquires, as her oldest son sprints through the living and dining area and then uses his socks to allow him to slide the rest of the way. An almost victorious and proud grin on his face when he comes to a stop against the island. His outfit of choice is an eyebrow raiser; jogging pants enormous and incredibly baggy, a hoodie at least four sizes too big, a black knit beanie on his head.

“It’s my New York City look. For the mean streets. You like it?”

She grins and sips her tea. “The mean streets, huh? There’s nothing quite as dark and dangerous as the vicious and cold, dark alleys of Gramercy Park.”

“It’s bad ass. New York City. Maybe not exactly where we live, but…”

“You’re pretty far removed from the bad assery of The Big Apple, but I admire your spirit. If I ever find myself getting mugged or having to walk down a dark street at two in the morning, I know who to call.”

“I’d protect you, mum. I don’t care how big and bad someone is. I’d kick their ass for you. Or at least try to.”

“And THAT is why you’re my favorite. Although don’t tell your brothers and sisters; that’ll cause too much drama.”

“Your secret is safe with me. OUR secret.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek. “What’cha doing?”

“Lists. One of many. Things we need in the house and things we need to do.” She eyes him from head to toe, mug against her lips. "Is that your dad’s hoodie? AND his pants?”

“He let me have them. I asked if he had anything old I could wear; that he wasn’t going to use anymore. This is what he gave me.”

“You do realize he’s more than a foot taller than you and about...I don’t know...a hundred pounds heavier.”

“I weigh a hundred pounds now. Dad’s like one eighty.”

“He was one eighty five when he got out of the hospital. Five years ago. He’s two ten now. Soaking wet. And you’re five feet? Since when?”

“Since yesterday. I had Tanner measure me.”

“You have a lot of damn nerve, kid. Being only half an inch shorter than me. At TEN.”

“I share DNA with a giant. Dad’s six three. I’ve got more of his genes than yours.”

“Yes, I know. I see more and more of those genes every day. You’re looking more like him all the time. And don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing. A VERY good thing. But five feet? Already? What the hell?”

“I can’t help it. Blame genetics.”

“You’re going to be massive. You’re probably going to be taller than your dad. And if you keep lifting weights like you do and you start going heavier as you get older, you’ll be huge by sixteen. A good huge. It’s depressing. You’re depressing me.”

“Sorry, mummy.” He kisses her cheek once more, then joking places his forearm on the top of her head. “You’re going to make a good arm rest. Thanks for being absurdly short.”

“Don’t be a smart ass. I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”

“Dad says the tiniest ones are always the most feisty. I think that’s why he fell in love with you; you’re little but you don’t take any shit. Even from him.”

“He likes a challenge, that’s for sure.”

Sipping her tea, she watches him as he heads for the fridge; rummaging through it before coming up with a container of some of the baked goods Tanner had already blessed the family with, and a bottle of Gatorade. He even walks like his father; those gigantic feet and that long, slightly bow legged gait. TJ is more awkward; stuck at the stage between still being a child, yet quickly nearing his teenage years. And he’s become far more mature since hitting double digits; still possessing that extremely active and almost hyper personality, but prone to more serious and thoughtful moments. And at times he looks years older; when his eyes darken and his lips set into a thin, serious line and his brow furrows. So much of his dad exists in him. Both inside AND out. And that smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and slightly wrinkles the bridge of his nose. It’s on his face now; as he opens the lid on the container of treats and sets it -and his drink- on the counter top before fetching the pot of tea from the stove and warming up the contents of her mug.

“You certainly are my best son,” she chides. It’s only PARTLY a joke. Although at times he can be quite the handful and his ability to regulate his emotions and temper can cause issues both at home and at school, he’s a wonderful kid; loving so deeply and profoundly.

“Tanner wanted me to give you this,” he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and pulls out a folded sheet of printer paper. “Things he needs. For his baking. He’s really good, huh? At the whole baking and cooking thing? Like, INSANELY good.”

“He’s quite the talent,” Esme agrees. “But so are YOU. You’ve got your own things you’re amazing at.”

“But not like him. He’s crazy smart and he can play the guitar and sing and all this baking and making dinner and stuff. He’s like a dude Martha Stewart! You know what he should do? Start a Youtube channel. People would LOVE him. People are suckers for a cute kid.”

“Well, you know Tanner; how nervous and anxious and shy he gets. You should bring it up to him. If anyone can talk him into something, it’s his big brother. He idolizes you.”

“I don’t know why. I’m not THAT great.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty damn awesome in my books. And you’re a really good big brother. You should talk to him. He’d be willing to try, I bet. Maybe it’s something you could do together. He’d love that. He loves spending time with you. And I know it’s been hard; him going to a different school.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best thing that’s ever happened,” TJ laments, and helps himself to one of the peanut butter and chocolate squares in the container. “It’s been four years and I STILL miss him. I loved having him in my class. And I loved hanging out with him at lunch and at recess. And sitting with him on the bus.”

“It was a hard decision to make. But it was the best decision. For him.”

“Yeah, my school isn’t exactly an intellectual wonderland. He’s better off where he is. With other brainiacs like him. But still, I do miss him.”

“I’m sure he misses you too. But you get a lot of time together. At home and stuff. And I always love Fridays; the bus dropping him off at your school and you guys coming to see me at the store. Hanging out until I close. Hands down my favorite day of the week.”

TJ smiles. “Mine too.”

“And I thought I was organized,” she comments, as she studies Tanner’s very neat and tidy list.

“He’s kinda anal, huh? About some things? I don’t mean that in a bad way. Just that he’s very…”

“Particular?”

TJ nods. “You know, I wish he’d see himself the way I see him. He’s always worried that he’s weird and that people don’t like him because of it. He always talks about how his brain isn’t like everyone else’s and that he wishes it was. You know what I wish? That more people were like Tanner. Because he’s talented and he’s unique and he sees the world so differently than everyone else. I know he struggles with some stuff, but it’s not a bad thing; him being the way he is. Sometime I think he’s better off than all of us.”

“Unfortunately, self hate seems to be a genetic trait as well. Who does that remind you of? Who else sees themselves in a bad light?”

“Yeah, dad is pretty good at that. Not liking who he is. I don’t why; I think he can be kinda awesome.”

“I think he can too. He’s just had a rough time. For a LONG time. He’s working on it. On a lot of things. But you know what’s really amazing at? Being a dad. I’m pretty lucky. I landed myself a pretty incredible guy. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. And as for Tanner, maybe you should tell him what you just told me. Because I guarantee you, if he heard that from his big brother? It would mean the world to him. He needs to hear stuff like that. Tell him, okay?” She rubs her palm in slow circles in the middle of his back. “It would make his day. Probably his whole year.”

“I will. I’ll tell him. Do you think he’ll live alone? Away from you and dad?”

“I don’t know,” Esme admits, and cupping her mug in both hands, turns around and leans back against the countertop. “Your dad and I talk about it from time to time. If Tanner will ever get to that stage. If he doesn’t…” she shrugs. “...he doesn’t. I mean, he could live in the pool house. He’d be close enough to home so if he did need help, we’d be right there.”

“What if he lived with me? If we got a place together? When we’re old enough, of course. Say when we’re nineteen. And I’ve got a good job. Like in the military or something.”

“That’s a lot to take on, Teej. A career like that and your brother. Would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s Tanner. He’s my baby brother. And not just any baby brother. We were made at the same time. We came out only a few minutes apart. I spent nine months with him; inside of you. Why wouldn’t I want to be with him?”

“A lot will change over the next nine, ten years. You might get tired of him by then.”

“I am NEVER getting tired of him. He’s my brother. I love him. And if it gives you and dad a break after taking care of him for so long, that’s good enough for me.”

“You are something else, Baby-Man. You really are. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“I know you do. And I like that you still call me that. Even if I AM almost taller than you.”

“You know, you’ve been so cute and helpful these last few days, that I will ignore your cheap shot. You really ARE your dad. Head to toe. Inside and out. Facial expressions and everything. It’s freaky.” She turns and helps herself to one of the treats; a chocolate concoction with marshmallows and coconut inside and a coating made from crushed up Frosted Flakes. “You know, I craved these for my entire pregnancy with you and Tanner. Your dad used to make them for me. Dozens at a time. He’d even get up at three am to do it. Or to go get tacos. That’s probably why you like Mexican food so much.”

TJ’s eyes widen. “Dad used to bake? At three am?”

“At all hours of the day. He’s actually really good at it. These were my favourite. He made them for me; my first birthday after we got married. We had just had Millie and we didn’t have a lot of money to throw around but he still managed to make it special. Australian wildflowers, a picnic on the beach, and these. It was pretty awesome. One of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Spent with my favorite human.”

“Dad really DOES have his moments.”

“Yeah, he really does.” Esme smiles, and takes a bite of the square. “You know, your grandma used to make these things.”

“Like mean, awful grandma or grandma Adeline?”

“Grandma Adeline. Your dad’s mom. She was quite the baker. Tanner must have inherited that from her. I know Declan got her red hair.”

“That must have been really hard. On dad. Her dying when he was little.”

“It was.” She sips at her tea and picks up the long discarded pen; absentmindedly doodling in the notebook as she speaks. “ It caused a lot of issues for him. It was pretty painful for him.”

“He still doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“It hurts. Even now. But he’s coming around. It’s not as hard for him anymore.”

“Is it true that grandpa used to beat on him? I heard him and Uncle Koen talking about it. A couple years ago. Dad seemed pretty upset. He normally doesn’t cry in front of anyone BUT you. He was kinda emotional.”

“It is true. Unfortunately. Your grandpa was a drunk and he was a narcissist and he hated his wife for having a child. It took the attention from him. Which I know sounds really weird and twisted. But that’s what happened. And when she was alive, he couldn’t stand her loving on your dad and spending time with him. So he took it out on her; beating her and saying mean things to her. Your dad used to have to listen. Sometimes grandpa would make your dad watch. Said it was to teach him how to ‘treat a woman’ and make them ‘learn their place.”

“I’m glad dad didn’t listen. For your sake. And his. I think you’d beat his ass if he ever did stuff like that to you.”

“I definitely would. And he knows it too. But, your dad isn’t like that. He isn’t the type to treat women like that. I know he has his issues, but THAT? He would never, ever, stoop to that level. It’s just not the kind of person he is.”

“Do you think that’s why dad DOES have the issues he does? The brain stuff? Because of how he got treated as a kid?”

“I don’t think it’s the only reason why, but it definitely added to it. You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. About mental health stuff. What’s going on? You’re ten. You don’t need to worry about this. Your dad is fine. He’s doing great. A lot better than anyone thought he would. So why…?”

“I gave him shit,” TJ says, then gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I mean ‘crap’. I gave him crap.”

“You gave your dad crap about something? That’s pretty bold. What did he do that pissed you off?

“ I told him it was wrong. That he went away. To work. That he shouldn’t have gone.”

“TJ, why would you…?”

“You wouldn’t have done it. Given him crap for it. And I know you wanted to. I know you lied. When you told him you were okay with it. You didn’t tell him the truth, mum. You just told him what he wanted to hear.”

“Sometimes we do that,” Esme reluctantly admits. “When we love someone and we don’t want to ruffle feathers. Your dad’s come a long way. He used to be gone all the time. He was off doing jobs more than he was home with us. And I know you probably don’t remember all of that because you were so young; the missed birthdays and anniversaries. The time he couldn’t get home for Christmas. You were only three, but…”

“I was little but I DO remember. And you always acted like you were okay with it. But then he’d leave and you’d be a wreck. Just like you were this time.”

“I wasn’t a wreck. I was nervous and I was worried and…”

“Mum, you don’t have to lie to me. I heard you crying. When you thought all of us were asleep. I KNOW you were having a bad time. With dad being gone.”

“You know what? You’re right. I was. Normally I’m okay with it; I can handle him going away as long as he stays out of harm's way. But knowing he’d walked into it? It DID bother me. That he’d been so willing to help out Anil. Especially after what happened the last time he went and got his hands dirty.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell him that? That you didn’t want him doing it? That you didn’t want him going away?”

“It’s not that easy, TJ. Sometimes it’s not my place. I can’t actually tell him what he can’t and can’t do. In the same way he can’t do that with me. And when Anil called and said he needed the help…”

“He should have said no. Anil knows tons of people. Why did he need dad? He could have called someone else.”

“Your dad is very good at what he does. Or what he DID do. One of the best. And I know it sounds strange; to be proud of a job like that. To be so willing to put your life on the line for people you don’t even know. But when Anil called and needed his help, your dad couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Yes, he could have,” TJ insists. “He promised. That he’d never go away again. That he’d never go back out there after the bad guys. He promised ALL of us. And totally broke that.”

“Sometimes it happens. Sometimes he can’t help it. Sometimes…”

“Stop making excuses for him. When one of us screws up, you don’t let us give you excuses. So why do you let dad give them? There’s no reason he had to go. At all. He should have told Anil to get someone else.”

“You know, we are going to have to agree to disagree on this. I said it was okay. If he went. There’s nothing more to talk about. So let’s just drop this, okay? You don’t know what’s talked about; between your dad and I. We keep you guys out of it. For reasons exactly like this.”

“You lied to dad. When you told him you were okay with it. You weren’t. You were far from okay. And I told him that. That you had a really hard time. That you didn’t deserve to go through that. It’s not fair, mummy. That he goes and does stuff like that. I don’t care that Anil needed. WE need him. Us kids. He’s our dad. What happens if he gets killed? Then we have no dad.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get killed.”

“He will if he keeps doing stupid shit like this. You should just be honest with him. Tell him how you really feel about him going away. ‘Cause if he thinks it’s okay, he’s going to keep doing it more and more. And then something really bad is going to happen. Worse than last time. And I don’t want that. I don’t want him going away and…” TJ’s voice cracks with emotion. “...I don’t want him going away and never coming home.”

“Tyler...hey…” she lays a hand on the side of his face “...it’s okay...just take a breath and…”

“It’s not okay. It’s never been okay. It’s never going to be okay. And if he goes away and something happens to him, I’ll hate him forever. If something bad happens to him and he never comes back, I’ll never forgive him. For doing that to us. For doing that to you.”

“Okay, I know you’re upset. And I love you so much for wanting to protect me. But right now, you just need to calm down and take it easy, alright? I know you’re going through a lot. I know puberty is starting to come and kick your ass and it’s making everything seem so much worse and…”

“Just tell him,” TJ implores, and noisily sniffles before wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Just tell him you don’t want him to go. Tell him, mummy. So he doesn’t think it’s okay to leave again. Because he’ll go and something horrible will happen. And then we don’t have a dad. And we’ll barely have a mum. ‘Cause it’ll kill you. If something goes wrong and he doesn’t come back.”

“You need to to just breathe, Baby-Man,” she steps in front of him and takes his face in her hands. “ Just breathe. Everything is alright. Daddy’s home and he’s safe and he’s not going anywhere. It was just this one time. He won’t have to do that again.”

“You need to tell him. That you don’t want him going. Please, mummy. Please tell him.”

“Okay,” she promises, and draws him into a hug. Heart aching at the realization that her arms can no longer completely wrap around him; shoulders and back both broad and strong. “Everything’s alright, TJ.” She lays a hand on the back of his head and draws it down to her shoulder, the other rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how I feel; about him going away. About how ALL of us feel. Alright?”

He nods.

“Why don’t you go and get some fresh air,” she suggests. “It will make you feel better.”

“You promise you’ll talk to him?”

“I promise.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, then holds him out at arms length. “Maybe afterwards we can take the littles for a walk? You know how much Takota loves when you pull him in the sled. It’ll be good; to go and get a bit of exercise. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You are getting so big. How do you grow up so fast? I remember finding out about you and your brother. I remember when you were born. All seven pounds of you. Now look. In a month's time, you WILL be taller than me. You’re already wearing mens size nine shoes. You’re TEN.”

“That’s what happens when your dad’s a giant, I guess.”

“You used to always call him that when you were little. You’d tell everyone that your dad was a giant. He probably seemed that way, huh? Probably seemed ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

“He still does. Well, maybe not the bullet proof part. We know THAT’S not true.”

“I know it bothers you. What happened back then. I know it’s not an easy thing to get over. That you came so close to losing him. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through all of that. I really am. If there was any way to go back and time and change it, I would. In a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

“I do, mummy.”

“Your dad loves you so much, TJ. You have no idea HOW much. When you were born and the doctor gave you to him? I’ve never seen him THAT emotional. Not even with Millie and she was his very first. After Austin. And he cried like a baby when he got to hold her. But you? I can’t even begin to describe what that was like for him. A son. After losing his first one. He was so happy and so in love with you. And that’s never changed. It never will.”

“I just don’t want to lose him. I don't know why he even takes the chance. Why does he go knowing that he might not come back? Doesn’t he love us enough to stay home?”

“Of course he does. And I WILL talk to him. Just cut him some slack, okay? The last five years haven’t been easy on him either. And he’s done so well. Better than anyone thought he would. But it’s a process; dealing with everything in his past and letting it go. So just give him a chance, alright? Can you do that? For me?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re such a good boy. I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you. And you ARE so much like your dad. And that’s a good thing.” She places one last kiss on his cheek and draws him into another hug. “A very good thing.”

******

The front door clicking open and a familiar Louisiana drawl calling out a greeting sets off a flurry of commotion; a mixture of both heavy and light footsteps pounding down the stairs, dogs scampering and barking, excited giggles and happy shrieks and rambling sentences in tiny voices. The kids have all become quite fond of Desmond (Desi, or Des, as Esme lovingly refers to him as) in their three years of spending time in New York City. A former University of Alabama football star, he’d found himself relocating when he’d met a very wealthy -and very much older- sports agent a decade ago; abandoning his dreams of playing profession in favour of a new existence in a new city. His husband -and admittedly the love of his life- had passed away just over a year ago. Leaving him with the elegantly and fabulously decorated brownstone in Gramercy, a small fleet of high end cars, closets full of designer apparel, and a bank account that will never run dry. He’s an enormous man; six foot seven and weighing close to three hundred pounds, most of solid muscle. Intimidating at first blush, but a complete teddy bear; compassionate and empathetic and possessing a heart even bigger than his body. And he’s hilarious and flamboyant; zero filter, exceptional taste in clothes, a love for expensive cosmetics and considerable talent in applying them, and a penchant for anything sparkly.

“You realize your front door was unlocked, don’t you?” Desi inquires as he journeys into the kitchen; monstrous hands curled around a giggling Takota’s ankles as he dangles him upside down. “Any wackadoodle could just walk in here. I know this is Gramercy Park, but it’s STILL The Big Apple. This isn’t the safe and quiet little sparrow fart town in Australia you call home. Where all you have to worry about is kangaroos and koalas and spiders the size of dinner plates.”

“I’ll have you know that koalas can be very sketchy; we have one in the tree in the front yard that hisses and spits and throws shit at you.”

“Jack!” Takota reminds her in between hiccups. “His name is Jack!”

“Well Jack is an asshole and he needs to relocate,” she says, and pats him on the bum and squeezes the cheeks; fingers moving to his sides and tickling him until both the giggles and the hiccups increase. “And it’s the dingos you have to worry about. They’re mean.”

“Dingos eat bad girls and boys,” Takota says, smoothing down his hair and his shirt when he’s put on his feet. “That’s what daddy said.”

“If that was true, we’d only have two or three kids instead of seven. Go and play. So I can talk to Desi.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“Top secret adult only stuff. Here," She snags one of the sugary goodies from the container on the island and hands it to him. “We’re going to go out soon. For a little walk. Get some fresh air. Make sure you pee BEFORE we leave. I don’t want to get you all bundled up and then have you tell me you gotta go. Hear me?”

“I can’t make any promises mumma,” Takota says, and then pops the treats into his mouth and rushes off.

“That kid is way too cute for his own good,” Desi declares. “Gonna be a heartbreaker, you know. Like his mom.”

“For the record, I’ve never broken any hearts. Well, except for the time in grade two when I didn’t want to be Freddie George’s Valentine. He just wasn’t my type; he smelled like tapioca and desperation.”

“You had a first husband, did you not? Must have broken his heart. Or you wouldn’t be on your second husband.”

“My first husband broke my jaw, my nose, more than one rib, and put me in the ICU. He’s lucky it’s only his heart that got ripped out. And what’s up with that hat?” She gestures towards the fedora atop her friend’s head. “You look like a pimp.”

“If I was a pimp, you, my little ho…” he plucks the hat from his head and places it upon hers. “...would be better dressed.”

“What is wrong with how I’m dressed? I dress like this all the time.”

“And you’re still married? Is he blind or did he hit his head too hard one too many times or…?”

“I’ll have you know, my husband doesn’t care about the packaging. Just what’s underneath. Case in point, I once bought this really nice and quite expensive baby doll nightie; totally vintage and gorgeous and this shimmering black and pink. I don’t think he even noticed. It took him like five seconds to get it off me. IF that. He does not give a shit about the wrapping paper. Just the gift that’s underneath.”

“And you, my cute, teeny little munchkin, are the gift that keeps on giving. And you must give VERY well. Seven kids and all. But baggy sweat pants and a huge tee and a way too big Quicksilver hoodie? Oh honey, no. Just no. No, no, nooo.”

“If it makes you feel any better, these sweats are Fendi.”

“That does NOT change the fact they are joggers and you should NOT be wearing joggers on the streets of New York City. You lived here before; has your little, beautiful brain forgotten what it’s like to dress here? We need to get you some retail therapy with old Desi. He’ll hook you up. A little refinement, a little sophistication, a little bling. I got you, girl.”

“Your idea of a little bling is a ten thousand dollar belt you tried to talk me into buying last year. Where would I wear a ten thousand dollar belt?”

“I don’t care if you use it in the bedroom. If your husband resorts to employing it to trap you to the headboard or if he uses it to tie your hands behind your back. That belt was spectacular and you deserve spectacular. We WILL do this; a shopping trip. Chanel, Gucci, maybe some Ralph Lauren if we feel like slumming.”

“Where am I going to wear that type of stuff? I can’t wear Gucci while I’m cleaning out the goat pen or Chanel when I’m gutting a chicken coup. And I certainly can’t wear it out shopping.”

“Not to your favourite haunt no. Definitely out of place in Target.”

“There is nothing wrong with shopping at Target.”

“There is so much wrong with it. I’ll be here all day if we start.”

“Besides, we don’t have high falutin places like Gucci where I live, remember? You’ve been there.”

“Charming little place. Reminds me of some of the towns down south I used to hit up. But girl, you fill that closet of yours with the finest of apparel. Stick with me, I’ll treat you right. And speaking of being treated right, I got the appointment for you; Christmas Eve Eve, two o’clock Sally Hershberger.”

“You are a knight in shiny, blingy armor. You really DO have strings to pull.”

“I may have had to promise some good times...sexy good times...to the receptionist. But, that’s a small price to pay for you. I’m willing to take one for the team. Or should I say, give one for the team.”

“And as much as it's a dream of mine to go to Sally, and seeing how my hair really DOES need some TLC…”

“Oh no. No. Hell no. There’s a but coming. And Desmond Brownell does not like buts. Unless it’s Idris Elba’s. And your husband’s.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it. Not the appointment; I can go through with THAT. But cutting my hair? As short as the picture I showed you?”

“Girl, are you crazy. You’d be a knockout with a cute little side swept bob. What drugs are you on? Not that you’re ugly or anything the way you are now. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers or anything like that. But your hair...your whole mom thing with the constant ponytails or messy buns...it needs help. It’s screaming for help. Let me help it. Let me help YOU.”

“Just cutting it? THAT short. That’s not going to go over well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tyler is kind of old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned? You two spent five days banging right after you met. You got knocked up out of wedlock. He proposed in the bathroom. Nothing old fashioned about any of that.”

“When it comes to certain things, he’s very...particular. Especially when it comes to my hair. He likes it long. LOVES it long. I cut it up to my shoulders once and he bitched about it for TWO years. And let’s not get into when I got bangs or when I dyed it blonde.”

“I can’t say I blame him for the bangs thing. You’re way too cute and those big brown eyes do not deserve the attention taken away by fringe. But the bob...girl...that’s fierce. You’d rock it.”

“Maybe just some highlights. Some red ones. He did really like when I colored my hair red. I can get those, a trim, a blow out.”

“You can go to Cheapy Haircuts for Us for that nonsense. This is Sally Hershberger. You are not going to her and getting just a blowout or a trim or highlights. You are going big, or going home. The husband will deal. He’d love you with no hair. It’s no secret he thinks the sun shines out of your ass. Which, I have to admit, looks fabulous in Fendi sweats.”

“Why do you think he bought them? He knows what he’s doing. He bought them for the same reason he buys me yoga pants. And I don’t even do yoga.”

“He’s an ass man. I can appreciate that. And speaking of appreciate. Desmond Brownell would like to do some appreciating right about now. Is he home? The better half? Is he in there working out?” He casts a glance towards the home gym that sits off the kitchen. “More importantly, is he in there working out shirtless? ‘Cause if he is, I’ll gladly take him a glass of water so that fine ass specimen doesn’t get parched or dehydrated. I’ll even rub down those sore, beautiful muscles. I’ve got some very top shelf massage oil at home. Smells like pecan and coconut. Unless he’s more a citrusy type. If so, I can run to the store right quick.”

“First off, you’d traumatize him. He’s as straight as they come. I know that breaks your heart to hear it, but…”

“How does he know he’s straight if he’s never ventured out of straight-hood? Unless he has and didn’t like it….”

“He hasn’t tried it. He likes women. LOVES them actually. Maybe a little too much when he was younger. He is NOT bi. Sorry.”

“But I am. So are you. And you’re damn cute and he’d probably give it a try if you talked him into a threesome.”

“Yeah, right,” Esme laughs. “That would never happen.”

“Do right by your best friend. Or are you worried he’d leave you for me? What’s the old saying? Once you go black you never…”

“My husband is straight. Very straight. And no. He’s not working out. He’s not even home. He’s out with Tanner.”

“The breakfast date, that’s right. Little T couldn’t stop talking about that. Loves his daddy, that’s for sure. You know, that kid is damn talented. Those goodies brought over and that soup? Damnnn. Move over Emeril. Little T gonna set the world on fire.”

“He’s something else that kid. He’s...incredible. There aren’t even words that can properly describe him. But, he IS having issues.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“He’s bored. At school. And we specifically sent him there to challenge him. It’s been great. He’s been thriving and his grades are amazing and the teachers and the kids love him. But he’s so advanced and so smart that they’re going to run out of ways to teach him. Which means we’re going to run out of options for him. Which also means, I’m going to become a heavy drinker and eat my weight in these!” She nods down at the container of sweets in front of her and pops one into her mouth. “What are we going to do? There’s only so many options where we are.”

“Homeschool? You’ve got a degree. You’re smart. You can do it.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got a business. Two businesses, actually. And six other kids. Besides, he is way smarter than I was at that age. He’s probably smarter than I am. What am I going to do? For him?”

“You know where there ARE a lot of options…”

“We are NOT moving here. Tyler would never survive. This place? New York City? It’s not him. And I have to think about that too. What’s also best for him. We’re happy where we are. Insanely happy. Moving here is not an option. No matter how much I miss you.”

“Guess you’ve got a lot of thinking and research to do. It’ll work out. Always does.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love your optimism? And how much I’ve missed you? Or how much I love you?"

“You can mention it as many times as you like. My ego likes that shit.” He takes her face in his hands and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “We still on for dinner tonight? I’m still bringing Italian? And the wine?”

“We’re still on. Tanner is going to make the salad and the garlic bread.”

“We gon’ be eating like damn kings.”

“Are we still on for the other thing? You know; the thing we talked about? When Tyler and I take the kids to pick out a tree?”

“I got you, don’t you worry. I will let myself in and grab the stuff from the attic and sneak out. I also got the email; that ‘thing’ for Addie arrived. You know what I’m talking about?”

“The doll? I didn’t think it would arrive in time. How does it look?”

“Exactly like her. Now, you want to get a head start on the wrapping? You know I love me some gift wrapping.”

“You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “That is what I like to hear. Now, I’m going to the gym. There’s a Latino hottie there I’ve been trying to talk up for weeks. You behave. Stay out of the wine. At least until later.”

“You gonna wear your ‘Bama t-shirt? The one that’s two sizes too small and shows off your muscles?”

“Sweetie pie, you don’ read my mind. But have you been checking out my muscles?”

“I have a ‘thing’ for muscles. And yours are very nice. Besides, I’m married. Not dead. Tyler’s going to be upset. That he’s not the only one you’re crushing on.”

“You just put his little mind at ease. Tell him he gives me the biggest woodie out of them all.”

“That’ll stroke his ego for sure. See you later? Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be here. With bells and bling on.” He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks and pulls her into a hug; tightly squeezing. “You’re just so wee and cute. I could just scoop you up and put you in my pocket. See you later, gator.” He removes the hat from her head, affectionately tousles her hair before heading out of the kitchen. “And do me a favour? Put proper clothes on for dinner. I can’t be dining with someone in sweats. Desmond Brownell has standards to uphold.”

“Desmond Brownwell needs to remember the cherry cheesecake for dessert.”

“Oh bless your heart. Thinking I need to be reminded. See ya, pip squeak.”

“You and you tall people. So cruel to us little folk.”

“Little folk?” He smirks. “You’re like one of those things in Lord of the Rings. A damn hobbit. Matter of fact, I’mma call you Frodo from now on.”

“You do that, I’ll sneak into your house and kill you in your sleep.”

Desmond laughs. “I’d like to see you try, short stuff. Later.”

“Later,” she calls, shaking her head and laughing when he hollers “Spawns of Satan; I be leaving now!” before stepping out the front door.

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

One of these days I’ll remember to crosspost all these chapters.  Anyway here’s Chat and Rena bonding

XXX

Adrien awoke to the sound of the shower running.  

“Nngh… Plagg?”  He mumbled, only to remember that he’d slept transformed.  Ladybug’s handmade masks were great, but his tended to slip off his face if he turned over in his sleep.  The last thing he wanted was for her to pay an early-morning visit and discover his identity.

Not that Ladybug ever visited their secret base in the mornings.  But he kept hoping anyway.

The water was still running.  Had the metal plate behind the colander come unlatched?  It was more reliable than the plunger they’d originally installed, but it could still be finicky.

He stretched before rolling off the couch.  If the shower had turned on by accident, he’d better fix it before all their water ran out.  Ladybug didn’t want to use Longg’s powers more often than necessary.

He shuffled over to the bathroom door and— 

“Hey, creep!  What’s your problem?”

Adrien jumped back and blinked, and his eyes finally focused on the orange fox hovering in front of his face.

“Trixx?”

“Duh.  Why are trying to barge in on my holder?  Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“Wh—I didn’t know she was here,” he said honestly.  “What’s Rena doing here at” —he checked the clock on the microwave Carapace had bought— “five in the morning?”

“Plumbing maintenance at my apartment,” Rena’s voice filtered through the door over the sound of running water.  “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Er, uh—sorry!”  He backed away from the door and parked himself on the couch again.  Somehow he hadn’t thought through the implications of having a shower in the base.  Sure, he’d used it several times—but more often than not, he was the only one here.  It felt weird to be sharing the space with Rena Rouge, who he still didn’t know that well.  LIke suddenly getting a new roommate.

He’d never had a roommate before.

He shouldn’t complain—he’d come here because there was a chance he’d have company.  Even when he didn’t, the underground base felt more alive than his sterile apartment, with its grey-washed walls and decor supplied by his father’s new interior design line.  As if his living space was just another walk-in advertisement.

Besides, this was where he’d left his Switch.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”  Trixx asked, spinning circles around Adrien’s head.  “You homeless or something?”

“What?  No.”  He shook his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness.

“Huh.  Rena and Ladybug think you are.  Since you’re always here.”

His cheeks flushed.  They’d talked about him?  It was almost sweet that they worried.

“Plus, you’re always buying fancy stuff, like your video games, and the expensive take out boxes you always leave in the trash, and the shampoo that smells like roses—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“—I mean, it would make sense, if you blew all your money and ended up on the streets.  Or under them, I guess.”  Trixx shrugged.

The kwami had a point.  Maybe Adrien should curtail his spending if he didn’t want to give away his identity.

“It’s nothing like that.  I just get take out a lot because I’m not much of a cook.”

“Finally, something the amazing Chat Noir is bad at.”  The door opened, revealing Rena Rouge in ripped jeans and a denim jacket with an Anansi logo sewn over the shoulder.  Huh.  He’d never pegged her as an MMA fan.  Her hair was still wrapped up in a black towel, but she’d slipped her mask on over it.

“I keep meaning to learn,” he said.  

Marinette would probably be willing to teach him, but she was always busy with classes or projects.  Nino had practically called him a lost cause after he’d managed to burn a grilled cheese.  He knew Alya was an amazing cook, but he worried a little about how incompetent he’d look next to her.

“Then today’s your lucky day.”  Rena smiled, spinning a spatula around her finger.

“You—you’d do that?”  Adrien perched on his knees, crossing his arms over the back of the couch.

“Why not?  You’re afraid you’ll burn the base down?”

He probably wouldn’t.  At least the walls were solid stone, and there weren’t any maids who would report his mess to his father.

“That face isn’t very reassuring,” Trixx said.

“Don’t worry, he’ll do fine.”  Rena yanked him up by his arm.  “Trixx, will you plug in the griddle?”

“Aye-aye, Captain Rouge!”  The kwami saluted and connected the hot plate to the extension cord.

Rena grinned.  “Arrrg, excellent job first mate Trixx!  Now, hoist the cooking spray!”

Trixx searched the shelf and pulled out the metal canister.  He popped off the lid, which went rolling off across the floor.  Rena picked it up and put it on the kwami’s head like a little hat, and they both laughed together.

Adrien found himself smiling too.  He and Ladybug had definitely made the right choice in letting her keep her miraculous full-time.

“Alright, swashbuckler Chat.  Your turn at the helm.”  Rena Rouge positioned him in front of the griddle, then sprayed down the surface.

“What?  Already?”  His eyes widened.

“No better way to learn than by sailing straight into the cannons.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot better ways to learn.  Ways that don’t involve getting exploded.”  He didn’t even know how to work a griddle.  There was a knob on the side with numbers.  A temperature gauge?  And there was some kind of tray sticking out of the bottom.  He didn’t have a clue what that was for.

“Just don’t Cataclysm anything and you’ll be fine.”  Rena patted his arm.  She grabbed a carton of eggs from the polka-dotted fridge and set them on the counter.  A bowl and a whisk joined it; she really had stocked the whole kitchen.  All he’d contributed was some blackberry ice cream, which he ate straight out of the carton.

“Alright.  No Cat—”

She slapped her hand over his mouth.  “Don’t say it!”

“Right, right.  My bad.”  He blushed.  He really was a disaster.  Good thing Ladybug wasn’t here to see him like this—not that she’d be surprised.

Rena shook her head with a chuckle.  “I can’t believe I ever thought you and Ladybug were cool.”

“Hey!  Ladybug’s very cool.”  He put his hands on his hips.

“Okay, Ladybug’s still cool.  But admit it.  You’re both just big doofuses under those masks.”  She poked his nose, at the spot where his mask met skin.

“Joke’s on you.  We’re doofuses even with the masks.”

She laughed.  “Fair enough.  It’s comforting, though.”  She cracked an egg into the bowl.  Why she was putting it there and not on the hot surface, he didn’t know.  “I’m just a normal girl outside of the mask.  It’s nice to know you guys are the same way.”

“I can’t say I’m a normal girl, but I get what you mean.”  He grinned.  “It’s funny.  Carapace told me the same thing.  I guess we lose some of our mysterious appeal when you look too closely, but… I like that.”

“Really?”  She cracked another egg, then washed her hands under the tap he and Ladybug had set up.  

“Yeah.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want people to trust us.  But sometimes people expect too much if they don’t see our flaws, too.”

She pressed a whisk and the bowl of eggs into his hands.  “Stir.”

He nodded.

“That makes sense,” she said in response to his earlier comment.  “Illusions can be useful, but they don’t hold up under pressure.”

“Exactly.”  He stirred the eggs.  Not fast enough; Rena took his hand and demonstrated how to beat the yolks to a runny mixture.

“Cheese, milk, and bacon bits, First mate Trixx.”

“Arggg,” he said, disappearing into the fridge.

“You do like cheese and bacon, right?”  Rena asked Adrien.

He smiled.  “Who doesn’t?”

Once Trixx delivered the ingredients, they mixed them into the egg goop.  It looked pretty gross, like a soup gone wrong.  But Rena instructed him to dump it on the griddle anyway.

The mixture sizzled on impact.  Man, that smelled way better than it looked.

“We’ll flip it in about a minute or two.  Omelettes cook pretty fast.”

He stared at the eggs as they slowly turned from translucent yellow to opaque white.  It was soothing, watching tiny bubbles pop as the change took place.  Why had he been so nervous about cooking again?

“This really is your first time making eggs, huh,” Rena commented. 

“That obvious?”  He blushed a little.  “It’s pretty much my first time making anything.”

“You sure you aren’t homeless?”  Trixx asked, poking his stomach.  “You look like you eat enough.  But every kit should know how to feed himself.”

Adrien’s ears and tail drooped.  He really should know.  If he ever wanted to cut ties with his father and his company, he’d need to live more frugally.

“Don’t give him such a hard time.  There’s a first time for everything.”  Rena brushed Trixx aside, then handed Adrien a spatula.  “Here.  Flip the omelette.”

She said it like an order, but she was smiling.  He thought he could hear the message hidden behind the words: I’m not going to judge you.  I know you can do it.

After living under the weight of his father’s doubts, it was a breath of fresh air.

“Thanks.”  He smiled.

(It wasn’t just for the spatula.)

XXX

“So, you spend the night here a lot?”  Rena asked as they ate their breakfast.  She’d taken off her hair towel, and it hung on the back of her chair to dry.

He shrugged.  “Not too often.”

By that, he meant he slept over five nights out of the week rather than all seven.  Nathalie still came to check on him every Tuesday, and Thursday evenings were spent with his old bodyguard.

“How’d you learn to cook like this?”  He asked to change the subject.  The omelette was light and fluffy in his mouth, with just the right amounts of salt, pepper, and cheese.  And it had only taken them around five minutes.

“My mom’s a pretty amazing cook.  She had me flipping omelettes before I learned how to walk.”

Adrien tried to keep the wistful look from his face.  His mom had always had chefs to cook for them, even before she disappeared.  If he’d ever asked, would she have had recipes to share with him?  Maybe Aunt Amelie would know.

“This was fun.  Makes up for how sucky my morning started, at least a little bit.”  Rena smiled, cleaning the rest of her plate.  She took Trixx’s too; she’d placed the kwami’s breakfast on a little saucer.

Adrien still wasn’t done—he’d wanted to savor the first (edible) food he’d cooked himself. 

“I’m sorry you had a rough morning,” he said.  “Anything I can do to help?”

“You can do the dishes, catboy.”  She winked and slung her bulky purse over her shoulder.  “I’ve got to hit the road.  Can’t miss the sunrise, or I’ll have gotten up this early for nothing.”

“Sunrise?”

“For my photography portfolio.  Nice shots of superheroes are one thing, but but I’ve gotta have a little bit of diversity.”

“I didn’t know you did photography,” He said. Of course, there was a lot he didn’t know about the other heroes.  “You should get some of your photos developed.  I bet they’d make this place a lot brighter.”

“Not a bad idea.  This place could use some livening up.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder before calling out, “Trixx, let’s pounce!”

Orange light washed over her, replacing her outfit but leaving her purse and fake mask.  She hung the mask back on its hook before pushing open the door.

“And Chat Noir?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re here for you.  Me, Ladybug, Carapace—if you ever need anything, you call us, alright?”

She might have phrased it as a question, but her eyes said it was an order.  It felt… weird, having someone other than Ladybug worrying about him.

But he could get used to weird.

He smiled.  “Alright.”

Maybe they didn’t need photos after all.  The room already felt a little brighter.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 216

October 13 Today was Colonial Williamsburg day, fun times! My folks hadn't been there since I was a baby, so of course there was a lot they wanted to see and do. Between the weekday, the offseason, and COVID, it wasn't exactly hopping and quite a few things were closed, but we still had a good time. A lot of the outside stuff was still open, so we were able to see the carpenter, the wheelwright, the blacksmith and tinsmith, etc. My dad was very interested in the traditional tools being used, a lot of which he has in his own workshop, passed down from his grandfather or acquired at flea markets and estate sales. The kiddo was also very interested in the carpenter especially, since he'd been there last year on a field trip and noticed that the building was different now. (The carpenter's shed had a deeply incongruous ground-level dormer window that had apparently been a required project for one apprentice's educational progress. It was very nicely done, just not, like, attached to the top of a building. The journeyman carpenter who was talking to us was happy to talk about all sorts of carpentry stuff and it was really interesting.  Even in CW, though, we couldn't really escape modern times. The costumed interpreters were wearing masks along with their vests and high button shoes and long dresses. We also could not get pictures of all of us in the stocks like usual because they were roped off and marked Do Not Touch. I guess it's hard to sanitize the stocks. The courthouse and the powder magazine were both closed and you could only look around outside, and the line for the Palace was super long because only a few people could be inside at once. But people were being very good about wearing masks inside and on the bus, and I never saw anybody complaining. I guess maybe we're getting used to it?  We stopped in Merchant's Square where the modern businesses are to eat and shop a little. My mom got this amazing clam chowder that had actual steamed clams in it, shell and all. She scooped the clam out of the shells into the soup, then fished out the shells and set them aside. It was really delicious. Everyone else's food was good too, but that was the showstopper. The kiddo had a massive cheeseburger, ate the whole thing, complained about how desperately uncomfortable he was, burped twice, and ate all his fries too. And wanted ice cream twenty minutes later. Where is he putting it all? The only purchase I made all day was a little bit of candy, so I feel reasonably virtuous. We also got a three month extension of our annual pass, since we were unlucky enough to reup in February, just before everything shut down and wasn't visitable. Now we have til May of 2021 to mess around colonial-style!  We stopped by the hardware store on the way home so my dad and I could pick up the stuff we needed to hang a huge painted window I got for Christmas last year. There were only a normal amount of people at Lowe's, the first time I haven't seen the hardware stores crammed in quite awhile. Maybe people are finishing all their quarantine building projects. My folks say that where they are, it is impossible to buy a freezer anywhere, but I don't know if that has something to do with the more moderate customer numbers or not. People were masking and keeping pretty well distant, so that was good. We had to get wall anchors, screw eyes and 50lb wire because I did not have any of those things in my toolbox.  I was very excited to get this window put up finally, because it was something my mom painted for me specially. She's very creative and does a lot of poems, painting, drawing, theater, all kinds of stuff. She's where I get most of my creative impulses, as well as my inherited ADHD. Ah well. In any case, she gets these old paned windows from auctions or the ReStore, takes them home, and paints them, usually with poems or song lyrics that are important to the recipient. She asked me what I wanted for my special window (my sisters had both already gotten one, so I was way ready) and I said I wanted the chorus of Coast of Carolina by Jimmy Buffett. I know he's not exactly the most serious artist out there, but he has some really good songs, songs that resonate with me. This one got me through a hard time when I was living in North Carolina with the preschool-aged kiddo and the in-laws while my husband was off in Texas, trying to get settled into his new job and waiting for us to be able to catch up. It had been a tough few years, ending up with us being functionally homeless and living with his parents until his job hunt paid off and we could pull ourselves together. I listened to this song a lot.  "From the bottom of my heart, off the coast of Carolina, After one or two false starts, I believe we've found our stride. And the walls that won't come down, we can  Decorate or climb, or find some way to get around Cause I'm still on your side, From the bottom of my heart."  So that song is very special to me, so that is what my mom painted for me, and now it is up on the wall in the kitten room where I can look at it during those long and sleepless bottlefeeding nights. It's perfect! (I have redacted the first pane, which is actually concentric hearts with the names of people, places and things important to me that gets just a little too detailed for the internet.)  

After that was done, we got takeout food and watched Repair Shop for a little while, and then they went back to their place and I went and did a mystery shop that I've been rescheduling for three days and couldn't push out any further. Thank god they did a really good job and my report was super easy. I'm ready for bed! 

[headoverhiddles]

All Work, No Play - Jack Torrance x Reader

Synopsis: You investigate the Overlook alone one night, unsure of what you’ll find. 

Notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEN YA SPOOKY BITCHES!!!!!! 

It's Halloween night, and this probably wasn't a good idea.

The Overlook Hotel had withered and shrunk in on itself over the last decade of being empty. One too many murders, and the previous owners had given up-- the bad press had grown tiring, and a repeat offense couldn't simply be explained away as cabin fever this time.

There was something about the old Overlook, and as with any place attached to a grisly history, it had its divided theorists. Some say there's bad energy there-- that's what made him do it. Others say the ghosts roam freely, whispering to whoever stays there or enters the front doors. Most people just go with the rational excuse; it was a coincidence of mass psychosis.

You let the words ghost and psychosis rattle around in your brain as the chilly fall air sweeps you inside. You probably should've brought someone-- anyone. You hadn't even told a soul where you were... this was a very, very bad idea.

As you turn to leave though, the door shuts on its own. Doesn't slam; just closes softly. You swallow. I guess that's decided for me.

You take a few cautious steps inside the large hotel. It's dark, but there are candles, half melted down, that you can make out in the dark. Taking the matches out of your purse, you walk around, lighting each sconce.

Your nerves are overtaken by awe as the place lights up. It's absolutely beautiful. Fallen from grace, sure, but the cobwebs add to the antique novelty of the place. How more people don't go ghost hunting here on TV, or just for fun, astounds you. Maybe the rumors really are true, and madness prevents visitors from staying a whole night through.

"Hello?" you call, your heart rate spiking. There's a ballroom to your left, empty and thick with dust. Your heart gradually starts thumping against your chest with each step you take further, and you wipe your palms on your jacket. "Anybody here?"

The autumn wind answers you again, howling outside and rattling the windows. The place is huge. Thinking of the scope of it makes your head spin... there are hundreds of rooms, and each could be filled with hundreds of things.

A breeze blows behind you, but you're already on the stairs. Trailing your hand up the banister of the grand staircase, you start to smile. This is so spooky. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all--

You pause, eyes widening. What's that noise?

Tip. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tip tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

It sounds like a... typewriter?

"Hello?" you repeat. The echo of the old typewriter keys is all that remains of the disembodied noise.

Coming up to the second floor of the Overlook, you again marvel at the view out the window. The snow-capped mountains behind the place tower over the hotel, and it looks strangely serene, out here in the middle of nowhere with no one to look at it but you.

"I'm all alone," you remind yourself. Your voice sounds so out of place.

You walk down the hall, and head down to the room that the Grady murders supposedly happened in. You inspect the walls, hoping for just a little leftover blood, but they did a good job of cleaning up-- it just looks like a regular old room, with the aging 70s style decor.

Taking a peek in the bathroom, you hold your breath. The shower curtain is drawn, and by the ghost stories floating around about this place, there's supposed to be an old lady who haunts the bathtub. As you inch toward it, you swallow, remembering that if there is something horrifying behind this curtain, you've got a long way to run from it to the front door.

It's fine. It's fine. She supposedly appears as a regular lady until her skin starts to decompose, according to the legend. Still... seeing someone hiding in here wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, no matter what she looked like. You notice something dark moving behind the curtain, and your hands start to tremble.

"Oh god. I-I don't mean to disturb you," you toss out timidly, hoping that you'll at least warn the spirit (if there is one). Please don't let there be one... please, please...

You peel the shower curtain back, looking between your fingers... to find a missing tile, a swarm of cockroaches crawling around the hole in the wall. You make a face, rubbing your hands on your pants just in case, and back away. Well, no old lady. Just an old, infamous hotel room lost to the hands of time.

You nearly jump out of your skin as you feel a hand on your shoulder. You whip around, to find nobody there. Another jump, as you hear the striking of a piano chord beneath the floor, just downstairs. Your brain instantly reaches for anything to make sense of it-- you left your phone downstairs by accident, and it started playing your classical playlist. No. There's a radio downstairs that... turns on by itself? No. There's an ice cream truck???

You frown at yourself for that last idea. Anyone would have to be crazy to drive all this way out to serve ice cream to some supposed ghosts. You're crazy for even attempting it yourself, especially at night. Then what about that hand, too?

You have to go see what made the sound.

As you walk slowly down the carpeted hall, you hear the music drift up. It's some sort of ballroom music. Descending the stairs, you bite your lip, chewing obsessively. Oh god, oh god. You really hadn't thought this through.

"Is there someone here?!" you call, "This place is... closed. I don't... work here, or anything." Then what are you doing here?

Having a happy Halloween, you argue with yourself. Right. If you survive the night.

You nearly stop breathing as you see what's going on. The ballroom that had previously been empty was now fully lit, golden, and open for business. Soft waltz music drifts out, and you put a hand on the entryway.

Ghosts.

You walk inside, looking around. There are no ghosts that you can see, but what else could have done this?

"Mr. Grady?" you ask, looking up at the ceiling, at everything you can take in. "Mr... Torrance?"

You sit down at the bar, and are amazed to find that it's fully stocked. You grin a little bit, feeling more excited now than scared to be experiencing all this, and walk around to the other side.

"Would you like a drink, Miss (y/l/n)?" you ask yourself in a posh accent, straightening your back.

"Don't mind if I do," you answer, pouring one.

"Make that two, would ya honey?"

You scream, and drop the bottle, hearing it smash at your feet. You turn around, to find a man sitting at the bar where you had just been.

"Who are you?" you breathe, white knuckling the shelf.

"Don'tcha know my name?" He gives a splitting grin, eyes ghostly shadowed, "You just called for me five minutes ago."

"Mr. Grady?" you ask cautiously, looking around to see if he had any weapons on him.

"The other happy haunt," the man continues to grin unnervingly, You don't dare blink or look away from him.

"Jack Torrance," you whisper. He laughs loudly, the booming sound filling the ballroom.

"That's me, honey. That's me. Stuck in this fucking place after an... unfortunate unfolding of events. Now, uh... if you don't mind honey, since you're on the other side of the bar already... would you swipe me a bourbon and make it neat?"

Shakily, you pour him his drink. You don't stop to question how you're talking to, and pouring a drink for, the ghost of an axe murderer.

"That's more like it," he nods, licking his lips. His eyes descend a little, and he hums. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" You blush a little bit. You had noticed he was pretty good looking as well, much more attractive than the legends paint him, but you're not about to admit that.

"I..." you mumble.

"What're you doing here tonight, Miss... what did you say your name was? Miss (y/l/n)?"

"(y/n)," you tell him.

"(y/n)," he muses. "Come sit. Can't tell why you'd wanna spend the night in a... run down old place like this hotel." His fists ball up. "These walls can drive a man mad. And, they did!" That laughter returns, before his face gets dead serious. "You know who I am, don't you?"

You swallow. "You murdered your family with an axe... just like the caretaker before you." He shakes his head adamantly, slamming his glass down and making you jump.

"I didn't kill them. I was told to... and I tried. God knows, I fucking tried," he grits his teeth, and takes another long drink of bourbon, "But sometimes, things are just out of your hands." He looks at you sideways. "You never answered my question. Why did you come here? Hm? To see little old me? Come see if the ghost stories are true?" He makes a 'wooo' sound, wiggling his fingers playfully. You shrug, unable to hide your nerves.

"Basically, yes. That's why I came."

"You're interested in ghost stories, are you?"

"Yes," you say.

"Fine, that's just fine. Interesting. My wife never liked them. She used to get squeamish, you see, whenever I would talk about anything that scared her. Everything scared her. Ghosts, spiders... me."

You walk around to the other side of the bar. "And why would she be scared of you?"

"Because I'm a scary person, (y/n)," Jack smiles. "Can't you tell?" He puts a hand on your knee, and your whole body goes frigid. You don't remove his hand, though. For a second, confusion flashes over Jack's face. He can't tell why you're not running, screaming. Now that you had adjusted to finding the very thing you came here to find, you weren't afraid anymore. He places the glass in front of you.

"Your turn. I think we have cause to celebrate."

You agree, and pour some of Jack's bourbon that would be very (very) nicely aged at this point. Lifting it to your lips, you appreciate the taste. It's probably the best bourbon you've ever had.

"Are you gonna keep me here?" you ask. Jack moves his hand up your leg slightly, looking down at it.

"That depends, sweetheart. I could keep you here for the night... just you and me, celebrate Halloween the old fashioned way, y'know..." He raises an eyebrow. "You know it has been a very long time for me."

"Aren't there other ghosts you can... pass the time with?" You start to worry. What if he wants permanent companionship? He could kill you!

"Let me put it this way honey. Ghosts making love to ghosts is like waving a hot dog around in the air," Jack mutters sarcastically, downing the last of his bourbon. You frown at that mental image, and decide then that killing you wouldn't be in his best interest, it seemed. He goes on. "No. I've missed feeling this. And you walk in here tonight, ready as can be to find some ghosts. Well, lucky me. You found one." He gives a big, playful smile, and you stand up.

"I came to look for ghosts," you say, voice low as you back up against the wall, "Not fuck them."

"Life is full of surprises, isn't it?" his grin grows, as he walks closer to you from the bar, "Or death is, I guess."

"Mr. Torrance," you say softly, "No matter what, I'll just have to leave in the morning."

"Then stay awhile," he grins, reaching his hand out. You look at it, listen to the ghostly noises echoing around you, and remember that you're standing in a hotel haunted by killers. Not bad looking ones, if Jack was anything to go by. Dammit, no!

"I guess I don't have to leave just yet," you cave, and take his hand. Just as you're about to close your fingers around his though, you start to feel a little dizzy. "Mmm," you moan, putting a hand on your chest. You start to cough, and your eyes close. You can see in your mind's eye, as clear as if you were looking at it, the elevator doors in the hallway opening, and a river of blood pouring out.

"Help, help, help," someone says, and you realize it's you. You start to cough, and see the same shade of red that came out of the elevators, in your palms.

"Drank the bourbon did you?" Jack asks, sighing. "Well. You know what they say. Always read the label!" You turn back, and see the ballroom has completely darkened, everything dusty with cobwebs and silent as a mausoleum. The bottle sitting on the bar is rat poison.

"No," you cough, and try to crawl toward the door.

"At least it wasn't an axe," Jack reminds you, and his laugh echoes as you run out the front door. Two steps, three, and you fall to your feet, pawing at the ground. Coming to terms with the fact that you're not going to get any further, you roll over onto your back, and look up at the Overlook looming over you. Jack approaches the door, and holds it open for you.

"All work no play makes Jack a dull boy. So, (y/n)... ready to play, angel mine?"

[toddperrys]

All I Want For Christmas

Kristoff helps Anna do some last-minute Christmas shopping for Elsa.

Read it on AO3 here!

It’s official, Kristoff thought as he scanned the line snaking around the Macy’s building, I hate Christmas shopping. He was bundled against the freezing weather in a heavy coat and hat, from under which he glared at the soccer moms with cheap mascara smeared haphazardly over their lashes and spray-tanned fingers topped with claw-like acrylic nails. Their children shouted and darted between the legs of innocent shoppers as the mothers stood by, more concerned with gossip regarding an actor’s recent affair. 

“You think we can find everything?” Anna asked. She stood beside him, her eyes dancing with excitement. She was dressed in a long, magenta coat Elsa had given her as an early Christmas gift. Her auburn hair stood out against the dreary gray and brown of winter.

“I hope so,” Kristoff said. “God knows it’s bad enough trying to go to one store for last-minute gifts two days before Christmas.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you along. I just came up with the perfect present for Elsa last night and I had to get it,” Anna said.

Kristoff met her eyes, “You want to do something nice for your sister, of course I’m going to come help you.” He meant it. Despite the bitter taste Christmas-time corporate greed left in his mouth, he’d go to the ends of the Earth with a smile on his face if it meant making Anna happy.

“You’re so sweet,” Anna replied, grinning. 

Before Kristoff could respond, the line suddenly lurched forward as the automatic doors opened and the crowd entered. Anna grabbed Kristoff’s hand as the crush shifted around them, their movements becoming quick and chaotic, threatening to pull them apart. Together, they pushed through the melee of shoppers towards the entrance hung with shining red tinsel. 

Upon entering the store, they found themselves surrounded by racks of clothes, elaborately placed displays of kitchenware and appliances, meticulous shows of squashy couches stuffed with throw pillows, and walls of TV screens and computers, all decorated with enormous banners announcing “50% ENTIRE STORE! TODAY ONLY!”

Kristoff’s mind was momentarily erased by the overwhelming presentation. “What were we looking for again?” he asked. His head felt like it was spinning at a million miles an hour.

“An ice cream maker,” Anna said. “We used to make it all the time as kids. We haven’t done it in years, it’d be so fun!”

Kristoff nodded, “Then let’s start with the kitchen aisle.”

They wove through the maze of products, dodging shopping carts overflowing with merchandise and children screaming for toys to the chagrin of their parents. The kitchen aisle was towards the back of the store, composed of two rows of towering shelves leaning at dangerous angles. Kristoff thought it looked like a canyon if canyons were made of discounted blenders and patterned tupperware. 

“It should be around here somewhere,” Anna muttered, scanning past a stock of ice cube trays. 

Kristoff wandered a few steps ahead of her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cluster of popsicle makers, and beside them, a sign advertising ice cream makers. “I found it,” he said.

Anna rushed over and peeked at the display, but to her disappointment, it was empty. “Dammit!” she cursed. “Now what?”

“Let’s keep looking. Macy’s is too big and too money-hungry to run out of stock this close to Christmas,” Kristoff said. 

Anna sighed, frustrated, “Where else would one be?”

“There were a bunch of displays at the front with kitchen appliances and stuff,” Kristoff suggested. “Why don’t we check there?”

Anna nodded and followed him back through the building until they reached where they had entered. They examined each display, occasionally pushing aside an oversized, glittering bow or inflatable reindeer in order to see the box hiding behind it. 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they searched with no success, until Kristoff saw it. Tucked behind a plastic Christmas tree among an oversized presentation of stuffed animals was an ice cream maker. He opened his mouth to tell Anna, but one of the soccer moms he’d seen earlier emerged from behind the display’s platform, and her eyes went right to the box. 

Without warning, Kristoff charged forward. He watched as the woman’s talon-like fingers opened and stretched towards the ice cream maker, glittering as if she were a predator preparing to jump on prey. Before she could get to it, Kristoff lunged forward, snatching it from the display and nearly toppling an oversized teddy bear in the process. 

“I got it!” he cried, turning to Anna and hoisting the box above his head. 

“You did it!” She hurried over and lifted the box from his hands. 

“Ready to check out?” he asked.

Anna turned her gaze to him, eyes beaming, “Let’s get out of here.” 

They paid for the ice cream maker and loaded it into the trunk of their car. As soon as they settled themselves in their seats and Kristoff started the engine, Anna wasted no time in cranking up the heater. 

“Thanks for going with me,” she said.

Kristoff shrugged, “It’s no problem. Mission accomplished.”

“I know,” Anna answered. “It’s just I know you hate Christmas shopping. You’d rather be at home with Sven by the fire.”

“That’s not quite true,” Kristoff said. Anna looked at him curiously and he smiled. “I’d rather be where you are, and if that’s sifting through the chaos at a Macy’s Christmas sale, then there’s no other place I’d choose.”

Anna smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kristoff replied. He leaned over and pecked her lips before shifting the car into drive and, with his heart feeling like it could leap from his chest, pulled out of the parking lot and towards home. 

[ladyaudentium]

Confectionary Affection

Title: Confectionary Affection Fandom: Final Fantasy Crisis Core Rating: T Pairing: AngealxOC Characters: Angeal Hewley, Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos, Original Characters Links: A03, FF.net 

"Morning, Kali!" the bell above the bakery door jingled a girl's entry. The sun had only just risen, and the misty light was beginning to illuminate the darkened dining area. She turned on the lights and the cafe was brought to life.

The colorful pictures of flowers and fruit backed by a cheerful, pastel blue paint with fluffy white clouds adorned the walls; an attempt to help people forget about the metal jungle they lived in.

Another young woman was already present, working diligently in the kitchen, "Good morning, Anri!" Kali -a nickname for Kalika- called from the kitchen where she was just pulling a fresh batch of cupcakes out of the oven. The previous batch was still cooling on the counter and there was enough batter left for a half batch afterwards. Carefully pulling the red velvet cupcakes out of the tin, they were gently set on the wire cooling rack.

"It smells so good in here! I don't know how you can be so productive so early!" the cheery girl announced from behind the blue haired baker as she entered the small, but well equipped kitchen.

"Don't touch those scones!" Kalika warned her, turning sharply and brandishing the batter covered spatula as threateningly as she could.

The brown haired girl jumped backwards, hastily pulling her hand away from the blueberry scones that were cooled and ready to be set out in the display case. Her green eyes were open wide with shock and guilt at being caught red handed. "I wasn't!" she cried, a blush adorned her cheeks, "Stingy!" was the last thing she noted before walking in a huff back out to the dining area to bring the chairs down from the tables and open the register.

Chuckling, Kalika went back to filling the last of the cupcake tin with the batter, and put them into the preheated oven. Setting the timer for 20 minutes, she turned back and began to pipe icing onto the newly cooled cupcakes, brushing a wayward piece of periwinkle hair back behind her ear, "Once I finish these cupcakes, we'll have some breakfast before the cafe opens."

"Yay! That's why you're the best, Kali!"

She grinned, and focused on the swirls of cream cheese icing. They had to be perfect. The world fell away as the blue haired woman concentrated. Her hands worked deftly to gracefully swirl the icing around in a perfect circle. The smell of the sugar and the freshly baked cake lulled her into a peaceful haze of concentration, soon she was lost in her work.

Kalika swirled the icing onto the cupcake and then dusted with gold sprinkles before topping with a tempered chocolate swirl for decoration. The oven beeped, signalling the last batch of red velvet cupcakes were finished baking. Quickly switching gears, Kalika grabbed her oven gloves and pulled the cakes out of the oven. Like the previous batch, she carefully pulled them out of the tin before she set them on the newly vacant wire rack to cool.

The mini chocolate cakes were next as she switched piping bags to the one with strawberry icing and layered a generous amount over the top and sides before smoothing it out. She grabbed a third bag with a decorating tip attached and began to detail swirls and dots of vanilla. The cakes were finished with a large dollop of vanilla and a sliced strawberry spread in a fan shape squished into the icing.

Afterwards, the second batch of red velvet cupcakes were cool enough to be iced. The young woman treated them the same as the first, gracefully swirling the icing-

"KALI!"

She screamed and fisted her hands in shock, causing cream cheese icing to splatter all over her white apron and the cupcake she was currently icing, ruining it.

"WHAT?!" Kalika yelled, crimson eyes flashing with anger over being disturbed and simultaneously ruining the perfectly innocent cupcake before her.

"It's nearly opening time and we still haven't eaten the breakfast you promised me." Anri deadpanned, crossing her arms to glare more effectively.

The baker glanced at the clock which sure enough read 6:47, the cafe was due to open in less than 15 minutes; Anri had gotten here at 6:00am. Kalika had gotten lost in her decorating for over 45 minutes while her coworker had completed the rest of the opening duties.

"I uhh…" the silence hung in the air.

"So… since you forgot -again- we'll call it even if you give me that ruined cupcake and one of the blueberry scones, deal?" the Cheshire grin over Anri's normally innocent features was strangely fitting.

Sighing in defeat knowing she was right, Kalika handed her the splattered cupcake and one of the freshly glazed blueberry scones. She took the opportunity to grab one for herself before walking to the front of the house to make a nice cup of coffee to enjoy before the cafe opened for the morning rush.

Together, they sat at one of the tables and watched as the sun continued to rise and brighten the cafe further. Both girls sat in comfortable silence, at ease with each others' presence. Plus, once the cafe was open, silence and rest would become a distant memory, this was the calm before the storm.

The clock on the wall chimed 7:00am as Kalika sipped the last drop of her beverage. "Well, that's the end of our peace and quiet." getting up, she placed her empty cup behind the counter to wash later and went to unlock the door, officially opening the bakery and cafe, 'Confectionary Affection'.

Almost immediately customers came streaming in and with a merry, "Welcome" or "Good morning" over her shoulder, Kalika hurried into the back where the kitchen was. The sooner she was out of sight, the better.

Making sure the bandana covering her brightly colored hair was still securely in place, Kalika stepped into the safety of the back kitchen. Another day, another adventure. Rolling up her sleeves, she began to place each of the completed cupcakes on a tray and brought them out to the front.

Anri was busy chatting with customers, making coffees, and distributing pastries from the freshly stocked counter. The atmosphere was light and happy, people were laughing and enjoying themselves. Even those who were on their way to work seemed happy to be here, to enjoy the cheerful decorations, and a good cup of coffee. Possibly their only joy of the day.

"Wow… look at this place, who knew a cheesy place like this existed above the Plate?" a male voice mocked from the door above the cheerful din of the shop.

"Ugh, I know right? It makes my eyes hurt with all the color." an equally mocking voice replied. Together they laughed.

Kalika's eyes snapped up to the two men entering the cafe, on their backs were swords and under their arms were three eyed helmets.

"Excuse me" she called out as the cafe silenced, "there are no weapons permitted inside this cafe, please leave them outside or in the designated area beside the door." she gestured to the stands and wall racks for proper weapon storage.

The Shinra guards made sounds of disgust, "You do know that we're Shinra employees, right? This dingey, fake-ass place is only able to exist because of us!"

Kalika glowered, her crimson eyes flashing with hatred and resentment. "Those are the rules in my establishment, whether you're Shinra or not has no relevance in the matter. Weapons at the door, or leave, those are your choices."

The whole cafe was watching at this point, to see what would happen between the bakery owner and the two Shinra swordsmen. In times like this, Kalika was happy her eyes were such an unnerving color; as she stared down the two men, refusing to break eye contact, she could tell they were beginning to become uncomfortable with her gaze.

"Tch, fine, this place isn't worth it anyways." the first guard spat, turning on his heel to push past his buddy and make his rather over exaggerated, and disgraced exit. His buddy wasn't far behind.

The cafe door slammed and Kalika flinched at the sound. The entire cafe turned to face her, the silence was deafening, the whispers that started up afterwards even more so. A deep blush colored her face as the young woman hurried back through the swinging kitchen door.

"Venti double mocha frappuccino for Reika!" Anri called, breaking the silence as some sense of normality came back to the flow of the cafe.

"Did you know she had red eyes? How scary…" one such comment made it through the crack in the door.

Kalika fisted her hands over the decorating table, "Calm down, it's not worth it…" she hissed to herself. Don't they know that her eye color wasn't a choice? It wasn't fair to be judged on something she had no control over. Her hands relaxed as she took a deep breath. Life wasn't fair, there was no use getting upset about it. She smiled contentedly, at least not while there were cupcakes to decorate.

Grabbing one of the cupcakes, the blue haired woman got back to work, and soon the incident with the comment about her eyes was all but forgotten. The noise and the din of the busy cafe melted away until Kalika was once again lost in her own world.

Once the cupcakes were finished, she took out a ball of dough that had been proofing in the fridge overnight and after deflating it with a quick hit, she placed it into a lined loaf pan and set it in the oven to bake fully. Then she took out another ball of dough, and began to chop it into halves, and then quarters until she had eighths remaining in front of her. Lightly brushing them with some olive oil, she finished with a dusting of sesame and poppy seeds before putting them aside to await their turn in the oven.

The work continued with croissants, and biscuits until it was time to pull the fresh loaf out and place it to cool while the smaller buns took its place.

"Hey, Kali!" a cheery voice called and her concentration was broken. Glancing up, the blue haired woman saw Anri standing in the doorway with a cheery grin, "It's almost two, but the cafe has died down, I'm going to take a break and go grab some lunch, do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. I'll watch the front while you're gone." Kalika responded as she took off her apron that protected the black bandana around her chest and the blue button up shirt she left open.

"Okay, see you later! Don't scare anyone away while I'm gone!" the cheery girl called as the door jingled her escape.

As Kalika sat down on the bar stool behind the register, she noticed that her coworker had been right, the bustling crowd had all but disappeared. Only two tables were occupied; one with a solitary man reading the newspaper by the window and another with a group of girls giggling excitedly over their desserts and sugary coffees.

Taking a look at the desserts display, the young woman noted that they were beginning to run low on a few items and made a trip into the back to retrieve more from the fridge. The bell jingled as she returned to the front, "Welcome!" Kalika called out to the newcomers over her shoulder as she used her back to open the door separating the kitchen from the dining area.

"Woah! Look at these Angeal! They look so delicious!"

The young woman looked up to see a boy's face almost completely squished against the glass of her pastry display case, his breath was fogging up the glass as he ogled the wide variety of desserts held within.

'Puppy…' was the only thing she could think as she blinked in surprise.

"Zack, we don't have time for idle stops like this, we need to get back to headquarters." a deep commanding voice spoke slightly to her left and when she turned to see who it belonged to, Kalika dropped the tray she was holding which clattered noisily to the counter in front of her.

SOLDIER, First Class, Angeal Hewley.

She could feel the blood rush from her head leaving her slightly dizzy, as he turned his attention to her. His eyes, they were a bright piercing blue that could only come from Mako. She couldn't draw her gaze away. The world was drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat. His mouth moved as his eyebrows angled downwards but everything was growing blurry and she was having trouble keeping balance.

Kalika's vision turned white as she fell to the side. Her mind knew she was falling, but her limbs refused to move. Wind whistled in her ears, somewhere in the distance there was an exclamation of some kind before she was cushioned by something soft. It smelled nice too, it reminded her of home, of greenery.

"Hey! What's the matter, are you okay?" a deep voice rumbled in the vague distance. Two fingers appeared under her neck against her pulse. With a jolt, Kalika came back to awareness as she stared into two glowing blue eyes framed by a wreath of raven black hair.

Angeal Hewley, SOLDIER, First Class.

He had caught her. She had fallen and he had caught her. A deep blush spread up her neck all the way to the tips of her ears.

"Hey Angeal, what happened?" A second head appeared from behind Angeal, more bright blue eyes and black spiky hair.

For a brief moment to address his companion, the First Class SOLDIER looked away, but before he could respond, the door jingled after someone's arrival. "Kali, I'm back! I also grabbed you something 'cause you probably haven't…" Anri trailed off when she noticed the situation.

"It's not what it looks like!" Kalika squeaked as she quickly freed herself from Angeal's grasp and took several wobbly steps away from him to lean against the bar stool she'd been occupying before.

There were several beats of confused silence between them before it was broken by the younger boy, "Angeal, you should be proud! She took one look at you and fainted, usually only Genesis gets that kind of reaction!" he was grinning ear to ear as Kalika turned even redder than before.

"Zack-!"

"-That's not what it was!" The First Class SOLDIER and the blue haired baker started at the same time, not caring about how it was rude -not to mention dangerous- it was to cut off this particular person, the young woman steamrolled through her sentence to clear her name "I fainted because i have a low blood sugar!"

"I knew it! You haven't eaten since before we opened! Jeez…" Anri cut before either of the men could speak up.

Three sets of eyes were on her all at once and she could feel the blood run from her face under all their combined stares. Each one had a different form of judgement from accusatory to confused concern.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, whatever you'd like to have, there's no charge." Kalika murmured as quickly as she could before making a hasty retreat into the back away from their prying eyes.

Voices called for her to stay, but she ignored them as she made her way to the back door to get some fresh air and solitude to sort her head out. How embarrassing! Sliding down the door, she put her head between her knees to hide the bright red blush that was rapidly heating her face and neck once again.

She'd fainted! Fainted! Right in front of Angeal Hewley of all people! Not only that, but then he'd caught her, was concerned for her and then the other one, Zack, thought she'd fainted because of an infatuation with him!

She knew who he was, of course she did! There wasn't a soul in Midgar who didn't know the three First Class SOLDIERs. They were practically celebrities, the poster boys for the Shinra SOLDIER program.

Quietly screaming under her breath, Kalika couldn't decide what was the most mortifying, the fainting, the concern, or the wrongful accusation.

A metallic squeak was the only warning she had before a bump to the young woman's back sent her sprawling forwards, landing on the dirty pavement. "I keep telling you to stop sitting directly behind the door, how many times do I have to plant you face first in the dirt before you'll realize it's a bad idea?" Anri scolded her.

"This time it feels appropriate. I wish I could become the dirt." the young woman spread her arms out to either side as if to embrace the ground, "Please swallow me, anything's better than going back in there."

The brunette scoffed, "You big baby, you're worrying about it too much, besides, everyone's left anyways."

"I'm still not going back in, please just let me wallow in peace for a little while longer."

"Nope! You need to get your butt back in there and eat the sandwich I had enough forethought to buy you."

As if in anticipation of receiving sustenance, the blue haired woman's stomach growled loudly. There was a long silence between them before Kalika relented, "Fine…"

Grudgingly she picked herself up off the ground and dusted the front of her clothes off as best she could, there were a few dirt smudges and blemishes, but those would be easily hidden by her apron. She turned back towards the door where Anri stood, one hand on her hip and the other on the door handle. Glowering half heartedly at her friend Kalika followed her back into the bakery.

As a force of habit, she began to make her way into the kitchen, but an arm blocked her, "Uh-uh, nope, you're going to sit outside and take a break to eat that sandwich like I said."

Blue eyebrows lowered over red eyes, "But I can eat just fine back here. Why do I need to be out front?"

Green eyes sparkled with an intention the young woman couldn't quite discern, "Because there's nowhere to sit back here, silly! This is to be your break! Don't worry, there's no one out there, and I closed us for a little while, so you don't have to worry about anyone else coming in while you're out there."

"I suppose that's fine then…"

With one last too-wide smile from the young girl, Kalika was pushed through the swinging doors into the main area of the cafe. Instantly her blood ran cold and her hair stood on end.

The cafe was indeed closed and everyone had left. Everyone except the two SOLDIERs.

Zack waved at her from one of the tables where he was happily munching on a blueberry scone with a red velvet cupcake sitting untouched on a plate. Angeal sat reclined in the chair across from his protege, one arm resting on the table and the other resting in his lap. A simple ceramic mug was placed in front of him, steam rose from the contents. A small coffee, Kalika guessed.

Turning back around, the young woman intended to make a hasty retreat back into the kitchen only to be confronted with a still grinning Anri. Suddenly everything made sense, "You lied to me." Kalika hissed as quietly as she could.

"Oh, I don't know about that, here! Don't forget this!" a sandwich was pushed into her hands and the blue haired woman's mouth dropped open. She had known that Kalika would try to make a break back into the kitchen and prepared for it.

Clearly she had underestimated this young girl's scheming abilities. She would have to be careful in the future.

"Now get out there! You look crazy right now. I'll stay back here and mind the rest of the blueberry scones." with that the door swung shut in her face and Kalika was left to face her fears.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around and made a direct path to the stool behind the register but was stopped when an excited voice broke the silence of the room, "Come sit with us Kalika! Take a break, get your strength up so the sight of Angeal doesn't-ow!" the older man in question had smacked him lightly with a fist. Likely to silence him quickly and effectively, Kalika was grateful before he said something that would embarrass everyone.

"That's enough out of you for now until you apologise." he stated firmly and the young boy looked up.

"Apologise?" his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Puppy…" Kalika murmured under her breath before she could stop herself.

"Yes, you accused her of something that was not true and then took advantage of her hospitality. Now," Angeal pulled the younger man up by the scruff of his uniform and then forced him into a bow, "apologise and thank her for the sweets."

"I'm sorry I said you had fainted because of Angeal, it was insensitive of me. Thank you for your hospitality. The scone and the cupcake are delicious!" Zack announced formally and somewhat disjointedly, the juxtaposition was so great that Kalika was at a loss for what to say for several beats of silence.

"It's okay, no harm done. I'm glad you like the pastries. I make them all myself every morning." she smiled, genuinely pleased that he was enjoying her baking so much.

"You have true skill." Angeal stated, his compliment completely genuine, "Please join us. It's the least I can offer to make up for this one's poor behavior." he once again clapped a hand on Zack's shoulder.

To continue refusing their offer to join them at this point would be rude and with a small sigh, Kalika sat down in the empty chair at their table. This was beyond surreal, here she was having lunch with two members of SOLDIER, one of which was a First Class. Not only that but he was so nice and down to earth, nothing like the arrogance and pride she anticipated.

Once again, a blush threatened to make itself known on her face, and in an attempt to stave it off she took a larger-than-normal bite of her sandwich. It wasn't fair! How could someone be so good looking and so genuine at the same time.

"You said you make all these yourself? That's incredible! You must work really hard every day!" Zack exclaimed with a mouthful of food. Angeal frowned disapprovingly over the rim of his coffee cup at his young protege's lack of manners.

Kalika smiled despite the food in her mouth and quickly swallowed. "I really couldn't do it without Anri to help me. She works really hard as well to be responsible for the front area here, I just wish I could hire someone to help her." the young woman sighed as she took a much smaller bite of her food this time.

"You are the manager, then?" Angeal asked to keep the conversation going.

"The owner," she corrected him, "this is my cafe, I built it up from nothing with the money my parents left me after their death. It's always been my dream to own and run a bakery. It's hard work every day for sure, but I couldn't be happier to do it." Kalika grinned as she looked back at her two companions

Like this, without anyone else, the world was falling away. There was no Shinra, no SOLDIER, no troubles at all. It was like three equal people, enjoying each other's company. The flowery scenery and blue sky depicted on the walls gave the open feeling they were no longer in the metal Midgar but somewhere far away.

"I'm sure your parents are very proud you are following your dreams." Angeal stated with an underlying air of respect. The young woman looked up, meeting his glowing blue gaze with her crimson.

"I can only hope that they would be proud of my accomplishments, but even if they're not, I am. This place brings happiness to many people every day, including myself, and I couldn't ask for more." Glancing at the clock on the wall, she noted that it was getting late. "Although I should get back to work now, we'll have to reopen in soon for the evening crowd."

"We also need to return to headquarters, Zack make sure not to leave a mess, we've already taken advantage of their hospitality enough." Angeal ordered and just like that the illusion was shattered. Shinra exists, they were both prominent members of SOLDIER and she was naught but a common baker. The gap between them was too wide to even consider building a bridge.

The young boy, in haste to finish his cupcake, tilted his head back and dropped the remaining third into his mouth. Kalika had to fight the smile that threatened the corners of her mouth while Angeal could only look disappointed.

"It'sh re'lly gud. Th'nk you!" he said through his mouthful of cupcake which Kalika was somehow able to translate to "it's really good. Thank you". The breach of etiquette was the final straw for Angeal who grabbed the young boy by the scruff of his uniform and dragged him around the table towards the door.

It was at that moment that Kalika saw the swords that occupied the racks she'd had specifically installed to hold weapons safely. Two were typical SOLDIER swords, but the third was a large buster sword. It was sharpened on only one side and had an intricate gold hilt. Angeal attached it and one of the standard swords to his back.

"Wait!" Anri called from the back as she burst through the swinging doors, a wrapped package in her hands. "Take these too, make sure to share them and maybe mention our name for us, kay?" she winked and held out the wrapped box.

Angeal looked unsure, but Zack was all too eager to accept the package, "You bet! We're going to tell everyone we know about this place! Right, Angeal?"

"It would be dishonorable not to do so." The older man turned back to the blue haired woman and offered a small bow, "Thank you for your hospitality, it will not be forgotten."

Kalika smiled brightly, "Anytime."

As the SOLDIERs exited, Kalika watched them leave. She wondered vaguely if she'd ever see them again but as the door shut and they disappeared from view, any fantasies she'd entertained of speaking with them again evaporated. Soon today would fall into happy memory that she would carefully lock away and only bring out to admire every so often.

Confectionary affection indeed.

[amandabe11man]

all of them

yoOOO New Tumblr™ didn’t notify me of this ask for some reason, so sorry.... anyWAY--

Animated character that was your gay awakening? Does Undyne count even though she’s from a game...?

Grilled cheese or PB&J? I’ve had neither, but grilled cheese sounds much tastier, so I’ll go with that

What show/YouTube video(s) do you put on in the background when you when you don’t have anything to watch but you want something on? Creepypasta-narrations

Your go-to bar order, if you drink? I don’t really drink but I MIGHT if the drink barely tastes of alcohol. So...smth sweet. Or a Mojito... Those are okay

What’s your favorite pair of shoes that you own? My Dr. Martens-shoes that I haven’t taken proper care of so now the leather is cracked.. :I

Top three cuisines? - Fried noodles and such things - My mom’s chicken pie - Lövbiff

What was your first word as a child (that wasn’t a variation of “Mom” or “Dad”)? I don’t think I’ve ever asked my parents about that, actually, so idk. But I DO have a funny story from when I was really small (but still able to form words), and the grown-ups were watching TV or smth and one of them asked me “hey Amanda, what’s the name of the prime minister?” to jokingly test my skills, and i actually answered “göran persson” in my toddler-voice (AND it was the right answer!)

What’s a job that you’ve had that people might be surprised to find out you’ve had? I’ve barely had any actual employment, but I suppose that me working at a tech company last year (I illustrated stuff and other things) would be kinda surprising, considering how I’m not a fan of new tech?

Look up. What’s directly across from you? An empty cookie jar

Do you own any signed books/memorabilia in general? I have managed to gather up some autographs on paper, but one signed BOOK I have is from when I was little, and our family apparently met with Ilon Wikland (an illustrator, mostly famous for her illustrations in Astrid Lindgren-books). me and my brother got a different book each (ones that she had both illustrated) and she signed them for us. I used to love just looking at her illustrations and take in the atmosphere of them. Her art was prolly my first major source of inspiration, even.

Preferred way to spend a rainy day? Stay inside and enjoy the fact that it’s raining. But I also love to take walks when it rains

What do you get on your bagels? What WOULD you get if you had access to anything you wanted? Ummm-- melted cheese, if you’re thinking of the same kinda bagels I’m thinking of

Brunch or midnight snacks? Brunch

Favorite mug you own One that has little drawings of tea-related puns on it

What coffee drink would you describe yourself as? I don’t drink coffee so I rly couldn’t tell you, omf

Pick a song lyric to describe your current mood (and drop the name and artist!) Not sure what my mood is, but Bob Dylan’s “The times they are a-changin’” is stuck in my head, so

Fruity or herbal teas? Herbal

What’s that one TV show that you’re a little bit embarrassed to watch but you still like nonetheless? I don’t watch it anymore, but it Vampire Diaries used to be one of those guilty pleasure-shows, lol

That book you were forced to read for class but actually ended up enjoying? Of Mice and Men. And then we watched the movie too, AS IF I HADN’T ALREADY CRIED ENOUGH?!

Do you match your socks? yeUs

Have you ever been horseback riding? yEus

What was your “phase” when you were younger? (i.e., Mythology Nerd, Horse Girl, Space Geek, etc) Most of my phases haven’t really been phases at all, because I’m still into most of those things. I guess my true crime-thing was KINDA a phase, in that I don’t really have the hots for you know.....any of those guys >-->

Have you ever been to jail? Nah

What’s your opinion on Lazy Susan’s (the spinning tray in the middle of tables)? They’re nice furniture to have when playing ACNL

Puzzles? If they’re on easy-mode, lmao

You can only have one juice for the rest of your life, what is it? Bravo’s orange juice

What section do you immediately head for when you walk into a bookstore? The horror section, if the store has one

What’s one thing you’re trying to learn/relearn in your downtime right now? Trying to relearn anatomy, and I’m also trying to learn how to draw Rutger Hauer (still) and play a song on the harmonica

Who’s your go-to musical artist when you’re feeling upbeat? Anything I like goes tbh? But I must say, there’s nothing like dancing it off to some E-Type

Where could someone find you in a museum? At a miniature-display or smth

What’s that one outfit in your closet you never get the chance to wear but want to? My thigh-high socks....

Rainbows, stars, or sunset colored clouds? hMMMMM-- the sunset-colored clouds

If you could own any non-traditional pet (dogs, cats, fish, rodents, etc), what would it be? I’m happy with my rabbits, but idk- maybe a chinchilla too?

Do you have more art on your walls or more photographs? Neither. I’m kinda bad at wall-decorating..

You have to get one meme tattooed on your body, what meme is it and where does it go? “Vem vare som kasta?” tattooed on my chest

Pick a superhero sidekick to hang out with Wolverine, idk

Lakes, rivers, or oceans? All bodies of water are Noice but dat ocean tho

Favorite mid-2000s song? (we’re still IN the same century js) “Temperature” by Sean Paul, I guess??

How do you dress when you’re home alone? Like I normally would tbh

Where do you sit in the living room (we all have a preferred spot, and you know it)? Either on the couch or by the table IN the living room

Knives or swords? hmmmmM.... Swords

A song you didn’t think you’d enjoy but ended up loving “You Make Me” - Avicii

Pick an old-school Disney Channel Original Movie I haven’t seen any of those, but uh... Northern Lights?

Are you a “Quote that relates to the photos” caption-er, an “explanation of where I took the photos” caption-er, or a no caption kinda person when you post pictures online? I prefer captions, yes

Name a classic Vine I’M ABOVE SUCH THINGS (idk if this was a vine video but you’re welcome anyway)

What’s the freezer food that you stock up on when you go to the grocery store? Ice cream...

How do you top your ice cream? I don’t really do that a lot, unless it’s plain vanilla ice cream. In that case: CHOCOLATE SAUCE MFS

Do you like Jello? I might? I don’t think we have it in Sweden tho

What’s something that you don’t have a picture of that you wish you did? Me meeting Rutger Hauer IRL. (if I actually DID meet him, that is)

How are you at climbing trees? Pretty good until I get tOO high up

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“Comfort Food” Part XXX: Babymoon (Part One)

This is also my first entry for OQ Realms Week! 

           “That’s it,” Robin said, backing away and wrapping his arm around her waist. “The nursery is all set up.”

           Regina looked at the beautiful wooden crib, the center piece of their nursery. A dresser sat against the back wall and the changing station was right next to it, already packed with diapers, wipes and bottles of baby powder. There was also the toy box Geppetto’s Toys had given her and sitting on top of it was one of the stuffed monkeys from their baby shower. It matched the jungle theme painted on the walls—trees and different jungle animals decorating it, from monkeys to birds to snakes to a tiger.

           “It’s perfect,” she said, leaning against him. “We’re all ready for Henry.”

           “Yes, we are,” he agreed. He grinned. “I say we deserve a reward.”

           She raised an eyebrow, hoping he meant what she thought he meant. “Muffin Man strudel?”

           “You read my mind,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Let’s go get our shoes on.”

           They hurried to their room and put on their sneakers before heading downstairs. Queen was asleep on the couch, meaning they could sneak out without her wanting to come with them on their walk. Robin quietly closed the door behind him before taking her hand. “And here we go,” he said.

           A warm breeze blew past them as they turned out of their walkway and headed toward the main road. Regina laced her fingers with his and gave their latched hands a couple gentle swings. “It’s a beautiful evening for a walk,” she said.

           “It is,” he agreed, squeezing her hand. “Maybe we should get some ice cream instead of the strudel.”

           She gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband, Robin Locksley?”

           He let out a belly laugh, letting go of her hand so he could wrap his arm around her and hold her close. “We can get both—but have the strudel another day. I now really want ice cream.”

           “Ice cream does sound good,” she admitted, already tasting the creamy goodness on her tongue.

           “Okay,” he said, turning in the opposite direction of the Muffin Man once they got to the corner. “To Any Given Sundae we go!”

           They continued to walk down the street and Regina sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Soon we’ll be pushing a stroller with us.”

           “Yes, we will,” he said. “And one of us will be lugging a diaper bag with them.”

           She snorted. “You mean me.”

           “Not necessarily,” he replied. “I also intend to lug that thing around. We’re a team, right? Why should you break your back alone?”

           “Good point. Can I get this in writing?” she teased him.

           He pouted, pretending to be wounded. “What, my word isn’t good enough?”

           She smiled, raising her head so she could kiss him. “Of course it is. I know you will pull equal weight when it comes to parenting.”

           They arrived at Any Given Sundae and Robin pulled away from her. He opened the door and gave a little bow. “After you, milady.”

           “Thank you,” she said, walking into the store. A blast of cold air hit her and she felt goosebumps rise on her arms. She wrapped them around her as Robin’s warm body quickly pressed against her, gently pushing her toward the freezer so they could choose their ice cream flavors.

           Regina eyed the chunky monkey as well as the cookie dough options, debating between the two. Without looking away, she asked her husband: “You getting Rocky Road?”

           “Of course,” he replied. “No need to have any other flavor when the best is right there.”

           She rolled her eyes. “Well, some of us do like to vary things up. Do you think I should go with cookie dough? Or something else?”

           “I think you know my opinion,” he teased her.

           “Right,” she replied, shaking her head. “Why did I bother asking you?”

           He laughed as she continued to look over the options. Her heart skipped a beat as she spied one toward the end, hurrying toward it to confirm that her eyes were not playing a trick on her. “I don’t believe it,” she breathed.

           “What?” he asked, moving closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

           “No. It’s just…look.” She pointed to the container in question, her finger pressing against the cold glass.

           He leaned toward the glass and she saw his eyes widen. “I hardly see that here in the States.”

           “It took me ages to perfect that,” the proprietor said, emerging from the back. The blonde woman leaned against the counter. “Would you like it?”

           “Yes,” Robin breathed. “I haven’t had a good raspberry ripple in the States yet. And it’s usually too cold for ice cream when I go back home.”

           The owner nodded, opening the glass by her. “Cone or cup? And how many scoops?”

           “Cone,” he said. “And can I get two please? One raspberry ripple and one Rocky Road, please.”

           Regina would’ve chuckled if she hadn’t been in absolute shock. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that she found this particular flavor now, especially as it was a flavor that wasn’t popular in their area. She knew it was a sign.      

           “Can I have a cone with two scoops of raspberry ripple, please?” she asked. “Just the raspberry ripple.”

           The proprietor nodded. “Of course. I take it you are a big fan like your husband?”

           “Like my father,” Regina replied, a lump forming in her throat. “He loved it and was always so upset that no one really sold it.”

           “Was?” the blonde woman asked, handing Robin his cone.

           Regina swallowed past the lump. “He passed away a few weeks ago.”

           “I’m sorry to hear that,” the other woman replied, making Regina’s cone. She held it out to her. “On the house.”

           “Thank you,” Regina gasped out, tears threatened to overwhelm her.

           Robin rubbed her back. “Why don’t you go find a seat? I’ll be right there.”

           She nodded, moving toward a far table as tears fell down her cheeks. Regina licked her raspberry ripple, savoring the flavor her father had loved so much. It wasn’t her favorite but she still liked it enough to always split a bowl with Henry whenever he could find it. She felt he was with her now, sharing the cone with her in spirit.

           A stack of napkins appeared in front of her. Robin sat down next to her, taking her free hand with his. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

           “No,” she admitted. “It’s just…it’s weird. We’re going about our day, being all normal and happy…and then WHAM! Something reminds me that my dad’s not here and I’m sad all over again.”

           “I know,” he replied. “It happens to me too.”

           She felt some comfort knowing she wasn’t alone in her feeling. “When do you think it will stop?”

           “I think that’s a question for Archie,” he said, taking a lick of his ice cream. “But I don’t think it ever stops.”

           “I was afraid you would say that,” she replied, taking a good lick of her ice cream. She closed her eyes, once again imagining she was enjoying it with her father.

           A few moments later, Robin said: “I didn’t know Henry liked raspberry ripple.”

           She nodded, opening her eyes again. “I forget where he first tried it but he loved it and would try to get it whenever he could find it. One time, he tried to get our local grocery store to stock it but he was really the only buyer so that didn’t work.”

           “Too bad he didn’t tell me,” her husband replied. “I would’ve been a second buyer. Maybe that would’ve changed their minds.”

           “I doubt it, but he would’ve appreciated the gesture,” Regina replied, smiling now.

           Robin chuckled before covering her free hand with his. “You feeling better now?”

           “A bit,” she told him. “There’s still some sadness but you’re helping me smile through it.”

           “Good,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

           They finished up their ice cream before Robin returned to the front. Regina watched as he spoke with the owner, who disappeared into the back. A few moments later, she emerged with a container. She handed it to Robin, who then gave her some money. He returned, smiling triumphant. “I got us some raspberry ripple to enjoy at home,” he announced. “And Sarah said she’s going to have it all summer.”

           “Is she?” Regina asked, glancing over at the blonde proprietor. “And how much did you pay her to get her to agree to that?”

           “I just paid her for the container,” he said, patting it. “She already made the decision before we walked through the door.”

           Though suspicious of that, she decided to drop the subject. She stood and took his hand. “Let’s get that in the freezer before it melts.”

           “Good idea,” he said. They left the ice cream shop, noting that the sun had set and the streetlamps had come on.

           A cool breeze blew past them and Regina shivered a bit, leaning closer to Robin. “The summer seems to be flying by.”

           “That’s because we’re eagerly waiting for our son,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her to share some of his body warmth. “So we’re speeding toward his birthday.”

           She nodded, still amazed by that. “We’re going to be parents any day now.”

           “I know,” he said, kissing her head. “It still feels like a dream.”

           “That will probably end the first sleepless night,” she replied.

           He laughed, nodding. “Probably.”

           “But it will be worth it,” she continued, smiling as she thought of their beautiful baby boy lying in their arms.

           “Yes,” he agreed, kissing her head. “All of it will be worth it for our little Henry.”

           They arrived back at the house and let themselves in. Queen greeted them with her leash in her mouth and a look in her eyes that almost seemed to say “How dare you go for a walk without me?” Robin sighed as he handed Regina the ice cream, asking her to put it in the freezer while he took the dog on a walk. She agreed, watching as he put on Queen’s harness and then her leash. With a little wave, he left with Her Majesty.

           After putting the ice cream away, Regina headed upstairs. She was going to go to her room and prepare a bath but found herself standing in the nursery. It still amazed her that it was complete and ready for their son. Everything seemed so much more real and she couldn’t wait until she had her baby boy.

           She walked over to one wall, where she had set up a photo family tree. At the very top was an empty frame that said Baby waiting for Henry’s first picture. Then right underneath that was a picture of her and Robin from their wedding, the two posing on the steps of their back porch. She leaned against him, looking up as she smiled at him. He beamed down at her, his hand on her back. It was placed in a frame that said Mommy & Daddy.

           Underneath that were three more picture frames. One held a picture of Susan in a frame that just read Nana. Neither of them had wanted a picture of George on the wall—he certainly wasn’t going to be a grandfather to their child. Instead, they placed a picture of Grandpa Roland and Grandma Ellie next to Susan. They had to special order the frame that said Great-Grandpa & Great-Grandma for that photograph.

           Regina reached out and brushed her fingers over the photograph on the left. It showed her parents, both sitting on their deck. Her father had his arm around her mother’s shoulders, holding her close. They both smiled at the camera, looking very relaxed.

           “I miss you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I hope wherever you are, you are watching out for all of us.”

           “I’m sure he is,” Robin said, wrapping his arms around her. He held her close. “And I know he’s always going to be watching over us.”

           She leaned against her husband. “You’re right. Though I hope there are a few times he looks away.”

           He laughed at that. “True. I would hate to think he was watching last night.”

           “Oh, I hope not,” she replied, feeling her cheeks heat up as she recalled how many times Robin made her come.

           “And maybe he shouldn’t watch tonight,” Robin continued, leaning her back so she could see his suggestive smirk. “That is if you’re up for an encore.”

           While it was a tempting offer, she shook her head. “I just want to cuddle. Can we do that?”

           He kissed the side of her head. “Of course. We can do whatever you want.”

           Regina took his hand and they headed to their bedroom together. Her Majesty was already curled up on their bed, waiting for them. She gave the dog a scratch behind her ear before retrieving her pajamas so she could change into them. With a quick kiss for Robin, she slipped into the bathroom to go through her nightly routine.

           After washing her face and moisturizing it, she brushed her teeth and headed back out with minty fresh breath. Robin was already in bed, cradling Queen. The dog’s tail moved every so often, creating a dull thud as it hit his leg. She certainly looked comfortable.

           “Did I get replaced by Her Majesty?” Regina asked, teasing her husband as she climbed into bed next to him.

           “Not at all,” he replied, setting the dog down. Queen scrambled to her feet and took a couple steps before curling up on Regina’s legs like usual. “See?”

           She chuckled, moving closer to her husband. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close, kissing her head. “There. Cuddling achieved.”

           “Good,” she sighed, resting her head on his chest as she curled closer to him. Queen shifted so she was lying in the small space between Regina’s bent legs and Robin’s. The dog let out a content sigh before closing her eyes.

           Regina curled her fingers around Robin’s soft t-shirt as she let her eyes fall closed. She always felt at peace in his arms and today was no different. While she always missed her father, the grief was easier to bear with Robin by her side.

           She was the luckiest woman in the world.

           “I love you,” she murmured into his chest.

           He raised his hand, entangling his fingers in her hair. “I love you too,” he whispered.

           Regina smiled, drifting off to sleep filled with happiness and contentment. She knew only good dreams awaited her with Robin’s arms and love enveloping her. Hopefully, he felt the same way thanks to her.

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