#so with that and with removing all the oils from the nail plate I find that chipping doesn't really occur much

[sergle]

Do your long nails help with avoiding clipping? My fingernails are supershort and if I paint them it clips a few days later, but I probably touch a lot more with them.

I do think they chipped more when I wore my nails short!!! I also thought they chipped more often when I filed them into squovals or square tips. that said, another thing that helps keep the paint from chipping is that I dehydrate my nail plate w acetone before applying my mani, and I usually use some kind of bonder base / long-lasting base before I paint the full mani!

[oh2e]

A (long) Collection of TTOI Quotes

He’s as useless as a marzipan dildo

I’m going to have to mop up a hurricane of piss here

He and Hewitt are tight as arse cheeks

‘How fucked am I? On the fuckometre?’ ‘Oh 12’ ‘yeah 12’ ‘out of what?’ ‘50’ ‘oh…. mine was out of 10’

Tiny little dick the size of a bookie’s biro

There’s no time to go home I’ll pass myself on the way back in

I can only cook with what I’m given. You give me Hugh Abbot I’ll give you bangers and mash, you give me Jerry from home office then I can raise it to fucking risotto and scallops

I am king of remembering my own password

‘Shagging your way to the top is it?’ ‘Yes well I’m not Scottish so I’ve got to get in somehow’

How much shit is on the menu and what flavour is it?

‘What do you want Malcolm’ ‘Two bits of tit. Two titties.’

Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off

“What about just firing him at a wall from a cannon?” “I know we force feed him a mixture of garlic and Dettol in cup a soup” “What about the old red hot poker up the arse?” “I’d like to nail him to a tree through the head and watch lice slowing crawl over his body eating off all the flesh”

“Has security checked this [plant]?” “For little terrorists?”

This is the problem with the public - they’re fucking horrible

Not only was it a shit idea to ruin my holiday, it was a shit idea you stole from the government to ruin my holiday

Ah that’s like smoking dead skin that is

You’re the fucking shittest James Bond ever - you’re David Fucking Niven!

You’re like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra

You take the piss outta [Al] Jolson again and I will remove your iPod from its tiny nano sheath and push it up your cock! Then I’ll plug some speakers up your arse and put it onto shuffle with my fucking fist

I thought you said no one reads these except political obsessives and mad Christians in wheelchairs but loads of people read mine

“I am not the story here” “Well no you kind of are though Malcolm, they spelled your name right and everything”

Come with me before I put your nuts in a book and squeeze them so hard that they come out like pressed fucking flowers

You’re The Ben….Ben Nevis…Bentally Ill…

Tickety fuckity boo

“Anyone seen Jamie?” “Oh don’t tell me he’s gone feral cos he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash.”

I’d love to stay and talk to you but I’d rather have type 2 diabetes

Mr Baby New Potato Head

It sucks cock so deep the bell end is wearing your appendix as a little hat

This is an operations room so unless you want your tonsils out by keyhole surgery from this key here, piss off!

Cliff Fucking Lawton! Nice. Was the Cilit Bang man not available?

To a guy who loses it so bad he needs a sat nav to find his own nipples

I’m feeling about as up to date as a Gregorian calendar

“You couldn’t organise a bum rape in a barracks.” “Au contraire”

You’re about as secure as a hymen in a south London comprehensive

Stop fucking blinking or I will take your optic nerve and fucking strangle you with it

Hanging round like a couple of school secretaries in the summer holidays

It’s like a prostate consultant’s waiting room in here

You will be sorry you inflatable cock!

I am going to have your intestines as a skipping rope and your lungs sundried and turned into a fucking waistcoat

Or will Dan Miller pull his scalp off and use it as an oven glove?

Enough of the pleasantries let’s just oil up and get fucking

A towel rail shouldn’t take up a whole wall, that’s not a towel rail it’s a climbing frame.

I’ve got a to-do list here longer than a fucking Leonard Cohan song

More on my plate than a spinster at a wedding

The only other candidate is my left bollock with a fucking smiley face drawn on it

Feels a bit like my head’s made entirely of smoke alarms

Fuck the Is and fist the Ts

May as well ask what I think of skirting boards, I’m sure we need them but I don’t know why

“No no I didn’t say that” “Well you sort of did with your face”

Let me row back a little bit, perhaps all the way back to the boathouse

She’s not bent either in the sense of being corrupt or being gay and by the way that’s an incredibly homophobic headline you massive poof

Omnishambles, from bean to cup you fuck up

I’m on my way to wipe my arse on pictures of Nick Robinson

“And I’m not doing terribly am I?” [Malcolm looking out the opposite window] “I love the way they’ve sandblasted here. It looks so clean.”

No no, don’t get up - I’m not viagra

He’s a fucking knitted scarf, he’s a balaclava.

The only thing John Duggan is doing here is depriving a village somewhere of a twat

You write almost entirely in generic meaningless buzzwords don’t you?

I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear it to your mother’s birthday party, I will rub your nuts up and down her leg while whistling Bohemian Fucking Rhapsody

She’s behaving like a squirrel in a pedal bin.

Or I’ll have to tear my eyelids off and scrunch them up into fucking earplugs

I’m flypaper for dickheads

I think you’re wrong Malcolm you’re like a sultana in a salad

Sorry I can’t make espresso but I’ve made this so thick and black it’ll be like drinking fucking plimsoles

Well fuck a pot noodle. Sam, prepare my horse. I ride to DoSAC

The only fucking vibe you need to worry about is the one your wife hides in her knicker drawer

See you later and remember my door is always locked

* Tintin’s sexy sister to Ollie

What I really need is to shoot you all in the back of the head FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. but I can’t because it’s illegal.

I reserve this level of anger for when I’m flying Ryanair

As about a strong defence as ‘the fertiliser in my homemade bomb was organic’!

She’s a fart in a frock and we both want her wafted out of here

She’s going to have to fall on her sword, which means that we’re going to have to stick one in the ground, trip her up onto it and get someone jump up and down on her back for ten minutes

She’s going to kick her own head in which’ll be easy because she does yoga

I’m looking for Mr Oliver Reeder? He looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration

“Is she fucked?” “Like Caligula’s favourite watermelon.”

Can I bring you a shot glass? And some bleach?

You can’t look a gift corpse in the mouth

“It’s over the fat lady’s singing” “No she’s not, the fat man from the go compare advert is talking”

I’ve got my cock out, it’s covered in breadcrumbs and the fucking pigeons are circling

Have I just stepped through a portal into a sausage machine because this is making mincemeat out of my head

Sit there and ogle me like a page three girl

I’m as busy as a two-twatted hooker

Now I have to step in your shoes but after you’ve shat in them

I don’t just take this fucking job home you know. I take this fucking job home, it ties me to the bed and it fucking fucks me from arsehole to breakfast then it wakes me up in the morning with a cupful of piss flung in my face then slaps me about the chops to make sure I’m awake enough to kick me in the fucking bollocks. This job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body.

Everything is fine I’m like lube at a funeral

If you pull off again I’m going to stick the meter so far down your throat you’ll be able to tell the price of your next shit

You closeted regency homosexual

It’s been a bit like renovating an old, old house. You can take out a sexist beam here, a callous window there, replace the odd homophobic roof tile, but after a while you realise […] the foundations are built on what I can only describe as a solid bed of cunts.

Shit in the couscous

[gentillerascal]

Chapter 3 - The strangest sensations

Notes:

Alright, a quick warning regarding dolls getting broken and violence? Anyways, I hope you enjoy the latest chapter!! Thankieee!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

In my head, I'm a chemical dreamer Speed up to burn out mode Coming up in the fifth dimension Beautify, don't crucify me, yeah So I need no mind game poisoning my lonely soul Losing sure is easy, so I am no more - Cosmic Castaway, Electrasy (In Here We Fall, 2000)

Jesperi held a thick pillow over his head for the whole night. Either Pelle groaned softly in his room, Selena wept loudly, Kasperi kept banging the walls, or Jaakoppi was serenading. Virgil too, was shifting his limbs across the mattress.

“Scary?” Virgil moans a little as he flips over to face Jesperi.

“Not really…,” Jesperi scoffs, rubbing his eyes, “Actually, it is.”

Virgil spreads his blanket open. Jesperi perks up and widens his eyes.

“Are you serious!?” Jesperi wheezes in laughter silently.

“Oh come on, that’s how I kept Kasperi warm and calm when he was crying,” Virgil grins.

Jesperi scoffs. He crawls under the warm spot as Virgil brings him close to his shoulder. Shoulder to shoulder, both guys rest and stare at the greasy and shiny ceiling.

“Psht, that grease stain still can be seen in the dark,” Virgil scoffs.

“Yeah. How did it get there?” Jesperi chuckles.

“I was trying to make a putty monster as homework when I was a kid,” Virgil grins, “As I tried to boil it in a pot, I turned the fire up to eleven. So, it exploded across the ceiling.”

“No way!” Jesperi starts to wheeze like a kettle, “All we did was some magic circles on the ground and tried to summon different beings!”

Both boys racket with laughter as a rapid slam scatters across the thin-walled building. Virgil and Jesperi go mute before they chuckle silently again.

Hours don’t last long before Kasperi rustles his jacket and pushes the door shut. Virgil heats the crackling oil on a black pan and throws in stiff fish sticks and some vegetables. Sizzle grows louder into hiss and even more crackling as Virgil curses and shuffles the frozen goods. Jesperi looks out of the window. The abandoned house remains still. The tree waves up and down at the wooden noise-reducing barrier tattooed with graffiti.

“We can go out to the sandy field today to see what ya can do,” Virgil smirks.

“Really? You mean my bracelet?” Jesperi twirls his bracelet on his finger.

“Careful, that ain’t a toy.”

Virgil snatches the round, metallic thing. He takes a moment to glance it all around, stares at the deep red gem in the middle of it, pulls the chains and nods. After setting the fish sticks and the vegetables on the big plate, he takes Jesperi to his room and pulls out a golden and bright orange, almost shinier bracelet with a few green diamonds sparkling across the edge.

“Whoa… is that yours?” Jesperi’s eyes sparkle.

“It is,” Virgil nods, “My father, my grandfather bore this thing to help bring life into their creation.”

Jesperi holds the thinner bracelet in his hands, then allows Virgil to snap it shut across his bicep. Tiny locks fasten around the bracelet and his bluish blood rolls down partially his arm, spiking up in thin needles. Virgil pulls out one needle, snaps it from the gathering blood and shows it to Jesperi.

Virgil removes the bracelet as his blood rolls back up his skin and then he removes the bracelet. As if the wound has sealed up, Jesperi cannot find the source of the bleeding as easily under the golden fur. Virgil places the sharp nail on the table, which forms into copper.

“Fascinating. You’re an alchemist,” Jesperi stares at the long metallic piece.

“Indeed. The crowns are the tools, an extension of oneself.”

And suddenly, the loud clicking of a fork clatter against the plate. Virgil rushes out of his room and shouts.

“HEY, HEY HEY!!”

“What, it was an accident, I thought it was for me!” Pelle cackles, rattling his fat gut.

“I cooked this for myself and Jessi, Pelle.”

“Well, why won’t you go and cook yer own shit and not whine? I gotta eat too!” Pelle mutters.

“Let’s go, Jessi, we have more fishsticks in the basement freezer. And some juice in the downstairs fridge.”

Stairs fall into the eternal darkness below. Jesperi almost fooled himself at the edge of one slope and slippery step. He across the yellow-stained plates, staring at the tiny foggy windows decorated by old lace curtains and cobwebs. For a moment, he could picture pile of clothes into a victim that is shackled into wall. Yet, upon a closer look, the victim is just a pile of different fabric scraps and plastic bags stacked on an old chair.

Cold cloud flies out of the fridge when Virgil opens it. Inside the crystallised world, shelves have more shelves of different food packages stacked upon each other, relying shoulder-to-shoulder to prevent from collapsing. The glass dish, containing some ancient cake or casserole has a felt art of mold across the surface.

“Yuck!” Virgil covers his mouth.

“Eugh! What was that supposed to be!?” Jesperi gags.

Virgil grabs the kitchen Petri dish and drops it inside the garbage bin and seals away the contaminated dish.

“I will throw that thing away! Repulsive!”

Luckily, after rummaging in a deep pool of the freezer, Virgil pulls out a fresh package of fishsticks and makes another round of the breakfast. Pelle starts to buzz around him and snickers, jolting his whole body.

“While you are at it, make me another portion,” Pelle sneers.

Virgil’s hand twitches as he turns away from Pelle and slaps the oil and vegetable pieces of the cooking spoon. Pelle smirks, shuffling back to his bedroom to blast these obnoxious videos again. The same music, the same scene play out. Overexaggerated faces and actions, wild and bright colours across grainy screen. That’s what Jesperi could see between the thin sliver between the door and the frame.

After a quick breakfast, kahvikupillinen and a bath, Jesperi rushes to Virgil who carries two heavy bags. As they chain up on a gravel road and pass the greyish-white buildings with long wooden planks sticking up, they see Kasperi crawl behind the rock, holding a doll around the neck.

“Oh, there you are. Did you steal a doll again?” Virgil scoffs, almost dropping his bags.

“Yeah buddy, but it ain’t stealing if someone doesn’t reclaim it. Besides it’s just some trash,” Kasperi grins.

Kasperi passes the doll from his hand to another, it almost swings from the weight of the laces and the porcelain head. Virgil grumbles to himself and moves on, walking into the murky portion of the forest. Light scatters across the path, resting upon a short and long wooden fence. Long, light farmer tools stand still despite the slight early summer wind.

“Alright,”Virgil clears his throat, “We’ll begin our training.”

The football field has mostly sand, surrounded by a green metal fence. The trees encircle the spacious, rectangle zone. Long lines zigzag run between the balls and the tight zone engraved onto white sand, presumably pesis game was played here.

Jesperi pulls on his bracelet again. The coppery metal hides beneath his long hair. Sand gets disturbed by Virgil’s bags being thrown onto the ground. Virgil squares up, as he squints his eyes and focuses on his palm. In a minute, a long contraption stands up. Despite the frail appearance, it is now at least seven feet tall, growing more thicker. Jesperi backs up as the metallic snake turns to him. Long nails tap at his face and he can feel his arms freeze. Jesperi’s hand gets tense. Not before he can feel his tunic flip at his thighs, the younger man feels a sharp jab in his bicep. At that moment, he lifts his arm, unravels the arm warmer and ties up the metallic animal that scrawls closer to his face.

“Hyvä!” Virgil yells.

But the snake twists around, almost snapping Jesperi’s arm from a rough steer. The strings constrict around his wrist as Jesperi attempts to flip the heavy weight over to its side. Yet, the hefty contraption nears close, about to snap at his face. The strings now chafe into Jesperi’s skin. At that moment, something more edgy, more sharper bashes into the metallic creature. Turning his head, Jesperi sees Kasperi. His hands weigh down from bulky gauntlets, fed with red tubes to the knuckles.

“What the hell!?” Jesperi takes a closer look.

“Those are the babies me and Virgil have been building,” Kasperi proudly points the thick thumb against his chest.

“Mostly I did that, I just needed to know how to connect the gauntlets and the bracelet,” Virgil rolls his eyes.

Kasperi throws a few punches in the air, battling the invisible demons and hollering. Jesperi could have sworn to himself he saw a quick glimpse of a demonic grimace. Ultimately, Virgil slams his heavy scarred hand against Kasperi’s back. Kasperi perks up and glares at Virgil, about to send his fist at Virgil’s back of his head but misses by a few centimetres from his hair.

Now that, Virgil throws a disc at Jesperi. Jesperi’s strings form a large pattern. Holes differentiate in different sizes and patterns across the spider web Jesperi made.

“Huh… I see you mostly rely on the strings… Could be useful for catching projectiles,” Virgil smirks, “But we gotta try to come up with other moves too.”

“Like what? As what as I know my powers are mostly good with strings, but not textiles,” Jesperi looks at the unravelled yarn thread at his feet.

“That’s because smaller items are easier to control and create. Your blood fuels the crown, thus it allows it to work. Unlike me, your gem is very ancient and very strong. They are often harder to change.”

“O’Really?” Kasperi smirks, “Y’know mine are ancient as well, and I can send anyone straight into the thermosphere!!”

“Come on, your weakass gauntlets cannot withstand strong blows, not that I keep fixing them!”

Kasperi and Virgil snap at each other back and forth. The lining of Jesperi’s vest starts to glue onto his back. As he removes it, it clings to his spine. Jesperi panics. He starts to pull it, as he sees the belt of his purplish grey vest cling around his waist. Jesperi hops around and yelps.

“What th- Dear God! HELP!!” Jesperi screeches.

Virgil rushes over and tries to pry open the cotton vest. Kasperi too, sinks his metallic fingers of the gauntlets inside the open seam and drags Jesperi across the sandy field. Jesperi thrashes his body around, bumping against the rough sand.

“Hey, relax,” Virgil looms very Jesperi.

The moment Jesperi could push his arm through a thin gap, he gasps and finally gets a small dose of air. His ribs now overpower the vest, and he can bring more chilly air into his weakened lungs. Jesperi tears his vest wide open, staring at his heaving body and how his heart is slightly thumping like a tiny, scared animal under his skin. Jesperi lies down, trying to connect all of the clouds above in the light blue sky. Trees grow taller and closer around the enclosed sand area.

“What was that,” Jesperi weakly mutters.

“One of the reasons why bracelets can be inutile in any fight. If you get stressed or overwork your bracelet, you are going to hurt yourself that way,” Virgil mumbles, “I’ll teach you that later.”

Jesperi finally sits up, dropping his vest onto the ground and allowing his netted, translucent shirt to flip along the gust of wind. Suddenly, a thin veil of smells creeps under his nose. Looking around he sees a few foreign figures crawling from the tall plants. Kasperi jumps behind Jesperi and Virgil as Virgil pushes him to the circle. Kasperi already has squared up, clicking his metallic gauntlets as a small animalistic warning. Virgil looms his hands over the younger boys.

The man is back again.

“Ah, isn’t it the old friends, eh?” Matias grins.

“And you’re here for what?” Virgil storms forth.

“Virgil-veli, you have sunken deep enough! Dealing with a bastard and… some… some…” Matias tries to hide his tension with a cackle.

“Oi, mä en oo some dude, I am Kasperi Kärki!”

Matias rams forward, and tries to cling onto Virgil’s arm. The trio encircles into a small cup around the sandy place as more guys run up to them. Each of the guys tries to tear down the wall, but Jesperi doesn’t allow him to get pushed down. He sends his fist straight into the guy’s arm and uses his strings to tangle him up. At that moment, Ilkka attempts to bring Jesperi to his knees, but they both now waltz around the field. Ilkka eventually throws Jesperi backwards but doesn’t see himself getting pulled in. Jesperi jams his knee between himself and the guy. Ilkka whimpers, trying to get off.

Virgil meanwhile pulls out the same clattering structure that zips across the field like an overgrown greyhound. It latches onto Matias and Rasmus, who back down into the ditch, but end up tumbling over into shockingly freezing water in it. Matias nudges his head towards Virgil as Rasmus jumps at the older guy again. His bony hands threaten to collapse Virgil’s throat, but Virgil replies with an even tighter grip that polls the red blood in Rasmus’ pale wrists. With a quick twist, Rasmus snaps his hands off the neck and backs down.

Elias, who swishes his knife around at Kasperi, doesn’t corner Kasperi any further when Kasperi sends a kick higher than his height. Elias attempts to jump forward only to be greeted with a sudden, rocky and chilly punch. Elias attempts to set himself up when Kasperi sends another rough stab to his cowering and weakened frame.

Rasmus tries to find any weak spot, but each attempt to push down a stocky and muscular guy is just like pushing down a boulder. Eventually, the living cupboard throws Rasmus into the bushes. Matias, who whooshes a tiny knife in front of himself, makes Virgil grab it. At that point, his veins puff up, as well his muscles swell up with a bit of bright colour. And now, Kasperi’s piercingly blue eyes are on Elias, who sends him running back to the bank. Even Ilkka, who is wriggling around in Jesperi’s netted trap. Just later, Jesperi kicks him off into the run and Ilkka is already hiding behind Matias.

“No… you… imbeciles! You are traitors!! Both of you!! Wait ‘til she knows about this!!” Matias growls.

“Don’t forget to send her some greetings from me,” Jesperi smirks.

…

At home, Kasperi is shuffling inside of his room. Virgil silently moves around the one straight circle as he covers hand of his face with his scratched hand. Jesperi clatters his fingers and pedals his foot against the tiled kitchen floor. Only Jack is silently and slowly waving along his made-up humming that soars around him.

“What do we do?”

Virgil doesn’t catch a break. He just keeps turning at the edges of the table as he walks by.

“Virgil?”

The older man freezes and sighs. He places an old notebook on the table and scribbles a few thoughts on it. Yet, his anger takes over the striped paper, almost scratching it with a sharp lead pen. Virgil slams the metallic pen against the sanded table and leans over with his chair.

“This is no longer a safe idea to stay here, after all,” Virgil groans, “They already know we are here. If this keeps up, this area won’t be safe. The police are investigating Matias and God who knows what kind of tricks he might have up his sleeve.”

“Not that he can snitch on us and make us guilty for causing a squabble in the living area and disturbing the peace,” Jesperi nods.

“Not only that, my friend,” Virgil points his finger up, “The rumour has it, that Matias’ family has a black sheep. Either a legend, a horror story, or a real person… That woman was a witch.”

Jesperi gasps. Is this the ultimate ace Matias might have?

“What are you talking about, Virgil-veli?

“This woman,” Virgil brings himself closer to Jesperi, “…Is part of Matias’ family. She is slightly older than he is, but she is still bad news.”

“…”

“…About two decades ago, a young girl was taken into the circus. That circus was recognised as an otherworldly experience for its creativity and high-quality performances. Yet, Matias’ alleged uncle, the circus leader was later killed in a massive fire that destroyed the circus. And that woman is the one who destroyed it less than a decade ago on the Anjall.”

“…”

Jesperi sits still. Images flash of a woman unleashing her rage to a full extent. Fire crawling across the woven-out tents. Eating away all of the remaining joy inside the arena of the final battle between the circus director and the woman.

“What is the circus?” Jesperi mumbles.

“It is the Stonewall circus,” Virgil replies.

In a quick flash, Jesperi's mind fills further with fire. Air filled with desperate and agonised screams. Burning trees, and burning structures, in contrast with the piercing coldness of snow. Jesperi looks down, still sketching the weak figure of a woman, whose thumb slashes his lip. Jesperi's teeth tug at his lip, pulling the rough and scratched lip.

“Dear God… is it… really Karolin…?” Jesperi's voice swells up.

“Could be.”

Jesperi excuses himself and rushes over to the bathroom. His hands press down the hanging porcelain sink, almost pushing it down further against the worn-out veneer cabinet. The greasy mirror pictures a slightly sunken face on a thin, almost rectangular shape. His hands clutch the cold sink. Even brushing his teary face doesn't wash away the bitter feeling spreading across his face. His body tightens even further, feeling his own translucent shirt constrict him tighter at his waist and stomach.

He fixes up his fluffy cheeks and tries to brush off the tears with a rough twist of his wrist, but his eyes glitter still faintly glitter from tears. His bluish lilac eyes keep focusing on the bright reflection at the opposite side.

“’Kay! Enough of whining… gotta remain strong,” Jesperi shakes his head after taking a deep breath.

Now that he relieves his lungs from growing tension, he wades. And Kasperi curses to himself after a tingling ring of a needle drops onto the ground.

“Damn it!” Kasperi mutters roughly, “Yo Jessi, watch this!”

Jesperi pushes the door to see Kasperi pin down a doll. The doll is held at a needle point. Kasperi's hammer is about to split across the air, therefore splitting the poor doll's brain out in one simple stab. The porcelain shatters into thousands of pieces across the floor as Kasperi cackles.

“Hahaaa-ahaha!” Kasperi's boxy grin grows.

“Why did you do it?” Jesperi mumbles.

“Oh come on, it's fun,” Kasperi stands up and chuckles.

“That doll could have belonged to someone,” Jesperi grumbles in a collected, yet irritated tone.

“Nah, ya know if it someone's doll, it would have been picked up,” Kasperi leans against Jesperi's shoulder.

Jesperi looks down at his younger brother. Kasperi's forehead barely reaches to Jesperi's chin, and his figure is not even shaped out to his more adult-like body. The dry hair waves around as he moves or leans over in a weak, feathery motion.

“Why were ya whining at the bathroom anyways?” Kasperi sits down on the floor.

“Just… a painful memory.” Jesperi sighs.

“What happened?” Kasperi leans over.

“It… happened almost a decade ago… just… something I cannot bring it out.”

“Yeah… seems rational.”

Kasperi smirks returns to his miniature lobotomy patient and quickly shuffles with the cracked skull of the doll. Each piece, sharp as a canine's tooth, differentiates in size. All of them in fact, remind me of an ideal denture for some demonic monster. Kasperi studies the doll for a second and grins.

“Shame. I thought I could have made less mess with that trinket. Gotta use less force. Not that I even like dolls. Creepy,” Kasperi scornfully mumbles to himself, walking over to his next, fresh-looking victims.

“No!!” Jesperi yells, snatching a cutesy baby doll from Kasperi.

“Huh? Come on, bud, ya know it's fun! Relieves all of the rage!!”

At that moment, the looming figure creeps at the door frame.

“Kasperi, Mrs. Mainela came here to ask if you had stolen her daughter's baby doll. Were you thieving again!?” a grumbling voice booms inside the dank room.

“N-no-” Kasperi chuckles.

“Here it is, sir,” Jesperi gently passes over the massive, sagging doll with weighted limbs and soft body.

“Mhm… and I thought we could have handled Kasperi's kleptomanic tendencies. Steal a doll again, and I will give you hell! Anyway, my wife will do the cleaning. Go wash your damn rat cave on your chair,” Pelle says in a hissy tone.

And the large guy storms off back into his room, once again winding up his obnoxious “films”.

“Ugh, Pelle-setä is a lazy ass anyways,” Kasperi spits.

Kasperi lifts up the dank clothes like a forklift and moves the stagnant filth to the bathroom. The vat sizzles with water poured in it and Kasperi already dips some of the clothes inside the vat. And he is about to drown the woolly sweater in steaming hot water.

“Wait, don't,” Jesperi gently grabs Kasperi's arms, “Do not wash wool in hot water.”

“Well, won't you explain to me, Mr. Smartass?” Kasperi jumps at Jesperi's face.

“It will shrink if you put it in hot or cold water. The water should be at the temperature of thirty degrees,” Jesperi calmly explains.

“Yeah? So wash it yourself.”

Kasperi shoves the textile knot into Jesperi arms and tries to walk off. Pelle yelps back, forcing Kasperi turn on his heel and enter the wooden and tiled-up bathroom again.

“Yeah, no way I am leaving this bathroom,” Kasperi grins uncomfortably.

“Why is that so,” Jesperi laughs, “Got called out by your uncle?”

“Kinda… Ya know, this place sucks. After that moronic foster father of mine decided to move here only to be mooched by…”

“I need my pills! I need my pills, Erina!” Jaakoppi wails ghastly, holding his finger up.

“Jaakko, you already had taken your daily pills, please, just sit down,” Virgil tries to calmly appeal to his uncle.

“Not before I get my pill!”

“How about a glass of water?”

“Glass of water? Well, that does.”

And the yelling pipes down. Kasperi stares about two meters behind the wall where that interrupting noise came from a second ago, as he crouches down and starts to sort out socks with netted holes on them.

“Well, it’s just… I always find myself hiding… I always felt overwhelmed by this place. That’s why I weasel out of this place. Every. Single. Damn. Day,” Kasperi chuckles.

“You do? You’re like a cat, you know,” Jesperi laughs, “Squeezing out of any loud situation, always having a safe little cave somewhere, hunting outside and gathering stuff.”

“It’s not like we are felinids!”

And suddenly, Jaakoppi starts to serenade, his bright tone ringing at the top of his throat like an opera singer. Between the open gap of a door, he is sitting on an armchair by the bathroom as he slowly shifts his hands left and right. Kasperi cringes, lowering his ears down.

“Ugh, never loved music anyways,” Kasperi scoffs, “Not that I had to suffer from this kind of hollering of a cat that got its tail pulled. Even a cat shrieking sounds better.”

“Dude, just admit he has some skill, he was a singer before,” Jesperi scrubs the clothes on a washboard.

…

Kasperi drags Jesperi into his room again. As the light flickers on, more and more details of papers around the floor start to grow, appearing to be merged into wooden floor. Tons of other shattered dolls, a bookshelf about to fall from weight reclining on its side. Jesperi sits down and studies the floral futon with oriental style to it. Kasperi grabs his art album, scratches a few lines on it and smirks.

“Ya know, even this offers some escape,” Kasperi nods.

He draws in more of deeper scribbles around the corners and circles around a certain spot, and more pencils offer some bright hints of red and blue all around. Upon a closer look, it’s just a photograph of a local highway behind the window. Some cars, a few lights around, such a close and realistic sketch of the place.

“If Jaakoppi wasn’t some ill maniac, I’d be here. Yet my bitchass uncle… takes money from him. He still gets the royalty, after all.”

“Do you even care about this?”

“Why should I? We all do get the benefit, eh?”

Jesperi has nothing else to add, biting his lip again and looking away. He curls up into a ball and tucks his sweeping tail beneath his leg. He massages his spotty creamy tip of his long tail and tries to smooth it down as Kasperi’s pencil keeps on scratching the surface of silky paper.

…

Now again, Jesperi lies down shoulder-to-shoulder with his muscly arm. Virgil flicks his shell phone open, eerie blue light scattering across his sunken and puffy face. Light breaks into Jesperi’s slightly opened eyes, and it’s enough to make him only see pure white for a moment. After the sliver fades, he can see a long face at the window and two hands cup the window. Jesperi perks up, feeling his heart tremble.

“Saku!?”

And the figure vanishes into the dark. Virgil lifts up the window frame and scans the figures at the backyard. Just a quick stream hopping over the bent-down fence and that’s all. One of Selena’s vases has been dropped - soil scattered over, plant is uprooted.

“Holy hell…”

…

“Dear rva. Punainen,”

“I send you this letter as a humble request. I beg of you to send me in some men and help me to retrieve the bracelet. I am sending you this letter as my father has taken a notice of my scheme. He has an eye on all of my devices, except for sending the letters. Unfortunately, I tried to unleash the crown, but alas, I couldn’t awaken it. Therefore, I will request you to find the three men and the bracelet, so I could attempt to study that trinket more throughout. I will give you in exchange a fair price for my help.”

“Best regards, Matias Itänen.”

Notes:

Kahvikupillinen - A measurement, here it is a slang for one cup of coffee, given the fact Finns drink a lot of coffee. Pesis, pesäpallo - Finnish version of baseball, regarded as a national game in Finland. "Hyvä" - "Good" "Mä en oo" - "I am not", informal version Setä - Uncle

[lethercook]

Palitos de la abuela, a life-long recreation journey

Ingredients (for 32 palitos):

1 egg

45g sugar

45g olive oil

60g anise liqueur

240g plain flour

1 tsp baking powder

vegetable oil for frying

icing sugar for decorating

Method:

Mix the egg, olive oil, and liqueur in a bowl until homogeneous.

Add the sugar and baking powder, mixing well before sifting in the flour in batches to avoid lumps.

Knead the dough in the bowl, then on a floured surface until it comes together and doesn't stick anymore.

Cover in cling film and let rest for at least 15 mins.

Heat up a good couple of cm of vegetable oil in a frying pan at medium heat, and put some extra oil on a plate to wet your hands and shape the pieces.

Pinch pieces off the doughball and roll them to around palm-length, tapering the edges to be thinner than the middle (divided into quarters, then rolled and cut into 8ths).

With an oiled, sharp knife, cut a slice lengthwise (without cutting all the way through) in each piece. This helps the dough expand as it cooks.

Fry the pieces in the oil, making sure they float and turning them so they brown evenly. Cooking them slower will ensure the middle cooks before the crust burns too much. Do not overcrowd the pan as the pieces could stick or lower the oil temperature too much.

Remove from the oil and drain the excess in with kitchen roll.

Sprinkle icing sugar liberally on top.

I think I nailed the texture this time! By having a drier dough and cutting back on the baking powder, the palitos were on the crunchy side, more akin to my grandma's.

My mum tried some, and said they were lacking in flavour a bit. This could mean a number of things:

Needs more sugar: I sprinkled more icing sugar on top, which helped, but maybe the dough itself needs more

The anise liqueur I made at home isn't as strong as storebought, or my grandma also added anise powder or other similar anise flavour for it to be stronger overall

There was something more than anise liqueur in my grandma's for flavouring

My mum flew back with 15-20 of the palitos, so hopefully my dad has a better insight!

--- ATTEMPT 1 LOG BELOW ---

Ingredients (for ~20 palitos):

1 egg

25g sugar

25g olive oil

30g anise liqueur

3g baking powder

150g plain flour (+ some more, for kneading)

vegetable oil for frying

icing sugar for decorating

Method: same as above

Whenever any of us grandkids came over, my grandma always had these ready to go. She would make huge batches, and my dad remembers it from his childhood too.

She didn't follow any written recipe, as grandma's rarely do, but my dad managed to find the base sweet these 'Palitos' are sourced from: Huesos de San Expedito.

The recipe I tried to follow to get myself started was too big, so I halved everything except for the egg, which I had to compensate for by adding plenty of extra flour when kneading as the dough was far too wet. They were a hit with my friends and aren't super sugary, so maybe next time I'll be brave enough to make a full batch. They also keep pretty well in an airtight container.

Another fun tidbit is that I had to use a homemade anise liqueur (read: star anise infused vodka) as it's not a thing in the UK. In my haste, the spice didn't have much time to seep in, so the anise flavour was there but very subtle. I've started a new batch going in advance for the next attempt.

While this version was super tasty, I seem to remember my grandma's having more of a crunch, so to be closer to that I think I need to scale back the baking powder so they come out less cakey. I do like cakey myself, though, so maybe I need to keep both types in mind.

Shoutout to this recipe for including the word "palitos", enabling us to find it as a starting point for my grandma's most memorable treat.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

sweet as honey, hard as nails

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; fingering, fisting, squirting, kidnapping, spanking/whipping, some allusions to breeding.

This is dark! nomad Steve Rogers x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You’re trapped by more than four walls, trapped between the past and the present.

Note: Thanks to @lokislastlove​ for helping me brainstorm. I was just hungering for some good nomad.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The light pad of your feet on the wooden floor was punctuated by the metallic clink, softened as you stepped onto the rug between the couch and the fireplace. You barely noticed the subtle weight around your ankle anymore. You barely remembered anything but those walls, the quilt spread neatly over the bed, the portrait of a woman in a Victorian era farm dress watching a field of sheep, the wooden bowl you filled with fruit from the garden.

The dress flowed around your figure as you strode to the counter and filled the sink with hot water from the tap. You slid the stack of plates into the suds and dropped the utensils on top. You watched the basin fill and took a gulp of the pollen-laced air blowing in through the open window before you. 

From there, you could see the garden and the swing that faced the endless forest. You could hear the birds and the critters chirping and searching for food. You sometimes saw the tawny fur of a deer between the brush or the red tail of a fox. The serenity of the place was deceiving.

You focused on your work, the plates printed with pinecones around the trim. They were old but worthless antiques, each piece in the cupboard matched, uniform and perfect, just like the life built for you in that cabin. You drained the sink and dried the dishes one at a time as you hummed. You were tone deaf but there wasn’t much else you could do to fill the lull.

You closed the cupboard and hung the towel on the bar. You looked at your wrinkled hands as you strode blindly around the couch. The metal at your ankle stopped you as the long chain wrapped around the furniture in your carelessness. You stopped and stared at the door and the heavy iron bolt above the handle.

Your eyes clung to the dark wood but you saw beyond. In your mind, you descended those steep stairs and sat against the cold concrete again. You closed your eyes. Don’t think of it, don’t. It only made it all worse.

⛓️then⛓️

You shivered as you hugged yourself in the corner of the dark space. There was no light, only shadows around you. It was cold and only the fleece blanket left for you kept you from chattering uncontrollably. You blew into your hands and sank down further as you heard the footsteps again, just above you on the groaning wooden floor.

It was an hour, maybe two, since you’d woken in that place. Your head hurt and a fog obscured your mind. You remember the beach, your sister laughing as you hopped from one leg to the other and whined that you would end up peeing in the water. You slipped into your sandals and left her on her towel. 

You heard the choppy waves, the lake growing more and more uneven in the last days of summer. You went early before the afternoon made the water too cold to bear. The sand weighed down your steps and you didn’t know if you’d make it in time.

You flew into the stinky stall just between the parking lot and the trails down to the lake. You hovered over the hole and relieved yourself with a shaky moan. It hurt but felt so good. You rinsed your hands in the foot-pump sink and swung the door open. That’s as far as you remembered.

The footsteps stopped at the door that stood at the top of the stairs, as they had several times before. You couldn’t reach them as the chain around your ankle kept you on the other side of the musty basement. That time, the latch turned and the door opened slowly with a creak. A light broke the blackness and a figure appeared above you.

You counted his steps, eleven. It was a him, you could tell by his broad silhouette, the way he walked, almost like a soldier. When he got to the bottom, he set something down on the bottom step and marched through the dark to the corner opposite you. You trembled but not from the cold.

Click. The lantern glowed suddenly and cast his tall form in a yellow haze. He turned back, you could make out his nose, long and slightly bent in the middle, his square jaw and the thick fuzz of his beard, and the line of his brow above the shadowed eyes. He went back to the stairs and took the tupperware and the water bottle. He neared and set them down before you.

You leaned into the wall and covered your face. You were terrified, still in nothing more but your onepiece beneath the blanket. You smelled like the lake, the sand, and the sun. He knelt and pulled the lid off the container. You still didn’t move, hiding behind your hands as you tried not to cry.

“Eat,” he said tersely.

You didn’t move, didn’t look, just hoped you could dissolve into the wall. He said your name and you gulped loudly. You parted your fingers and looked between them at him. You still couldn’t make out his whole face, just the shape of it, just the impenetrable wall of his body.

“Go on, eat,” he ordered again, “and don’t forget your manners.”

You slowly dropped your hands and reached over the top of the blanket. You kept your eyes on him, afraid he might grab you, hit you, or worse. You took a piece of the cut up chicken breast with your fingers as he nodded and stood.

“Thank you,” you rasped.

“Good girl,” he said and retreated, “you keep it up and you won’t be down here too long.”

⛓️now⛓️

You flinched and your trance broke. Your eyes were wet and you quickly wiped the tears away before they could trickle down your cheeks. You turned away and retraced your steps so that the chain slackened at your ankle. You went back to the counter and gripped the edge. You gazed out the window but not for too long, it only hurt more.

You pulled out the thick flanks of venison from the fridge and seasoned them, rubbing the cold meat until it was fragrant. You chopped it into chunks and fried it in a pan, the natural fat and oil spitting out at you.

You mixed together the dough in a bowl and rolled out the pastry thin before you laid it in the pan. You added veggies to the mix on the stove and added some more spice. You used the dripping for a gravy and added it back in. You filled the shell and crimped the edges as you stretched the top of the pie over the savoury innards.

You turned on the small stove, a fixture straight out of the sixties, and shoved the pie onto the rack. You rinsed your hands one last time and your eyes were drawn back to the window. You heard the crunch of leaves and fervent breaths, whimpers as another set of steps hammer close behind. You close your eyes.

⛓️then⛓️

You had no shoes, your naked feet scratched and scraped in the twigs and dirty, errant branches catching at your dress and whipping your bare arms. You didn’t know where you were going, you didn’t know where you were, you just needed to run until you found someone who could save you. Until he couldn’t find you.

You heard him getting closer and closer. He was fast and you were unused to physical activity. It was months since you’d left the cabin. Two, maybe. It was cold and your feet throbbed from the bite of the air.  You veered between the trees and your foot caught. You cried out as you plummeted into the leaves and rolled over as the rope clung to your ankle. You’d stepped right into a trap.

You loosened it, the knot meant for nothing more than a rabbit, but as you stood, you were knocked onto your ass. He stood above you and kicked you onto your back. He planted his foot on your chest and scowled down at you, his blues eyes bore into you angrily.

“Bad girl,” he pushed on your chest until you wheezed, “you’re going back to the basement.”

“No, no, no,” you slapped at him as he removed his foot and bent to lift you up, “please--”

“Shut up,” he growled as he dragged you back to the path, “it’ll be harder this time, don’t make it worse than you already have.”

⛓️now⛓️

You gasped as your eyes flicked open. The rumble of the engine reverberated and faded into the trees as the faded green truck pulled up before the low fences. The motor shut off and the man hopped out on the other side. You watched as he went to the bed and opened it, he pulled out and crate that he held under one arm and an odd leather suitcase in the other.

He saw you through the window and smiled. You batted your lashes and forced yourself to smile back. You went to the door and opened it for him. He kicked off his tan boots and strode inside as you waited patiently. He stepped over the chain and plopped his goods on the table.

“You miss me, honey pie?” he asked, “mmm, it smells good in here.”

“I did… dear,” you used the epithet that made him happy, that kept him placid, “I made steak pie.”

“Yum,” he unclasped the briefcase and paused as he looked at you, “I have a surprise for you.”

“You went to the city?”

“Why I left so early. Don’t you remember? I kissed you goodbye but you were sleepy so,” his thumbs rubbed the tarnished clasps.

“I remember,” you said, “I figured since you took the truck.”

“This is for you,” he said, “a surprise.”

“A surprise?” you blinked and watched his hands.

He opened the lid of the briefcase and revealed the interior with a ‘ta da’. You looked over the record player, the knobs worn and the upholster of the lid frayed. “It’s used, but it works.”

He reached over and slid the crate closer, “I grabbed whatever they had that wasn’t gospel.”

You didn’t move to look at the records or to admire the Victrola. You were too stunned. Not that he brought you a surprise, he always brought you small things, new dresses or a little figurine. Stuff you didn’t like but pretended to for his sake, but more so your own.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It was so long since you’d heard music. You knew that it was close to a year now. The days grew shorter, the air cooler, and the garden was at the end of its bloom. It was a lovely present from your keeper, the keeper you could never love.

“Thank you,” you whispered but still didn’t touch any of it. You cleared your throat, “thank you, Steve.”

“You okay?” he touched your shoulder. You learned not to flinch, that made him angry.

“You didn’t have to… do that,” you said.

“You’ve been good, you earned it,” he rubbed your arm, “there’s more in the truck. Why don’t you get it set up while I unload?”

“Yes, dear,” you nodded.

He bent and kissed your cheek, then caught your chin and laid a deeper kiss on your lips. You felt the shudder, the hunger, he wanted you that night, like most nights.

He went back outside and you hauled the record player to the table beside the fireplace. You plugged it in and went back to get the records. You sorted through until you found a familiar name. You took out the vinyl and checked for scratches before you laid it on the deck. You dropped the needle and it crackled before the melody began.

‘Oh my baby's comin home tomorrow

Ain't that good news

Man, ain't that news

Baby's coming home tomorrow

Ain't that news

Man, ain't that news’

⛓️then⛓️

The hammering stopped and Steve stood up. You watched him through the window as he replaced the tool in the metal box and closed it up. He tossed it back in the truck bed and came back through the open door of the cabin. It was spring, the long winter was over, a winter mostly spent below, and he wanted to clean up the garden.

He went to the hoop drilled into the floor and unlocked the chain from it. He tugged on it and led you outside like a dog on a leash and looped it through the one he’d just set into the concrete base. He yanked and tested its sturdiness then dropped the links. He dusted off his hands and looked around.

“Now you can come out and help,” he declared, “you should be able to reach everything you need. And I’m almost done the swing. We’ll be able to sit out here in the evenings.”

“Thank you, dear,” you recited the words, a habit you were almost compulsive about.

“Your welcome, honey pie,” he neared and kissed your forehead, “you understand right? Now that you’re back up here, you have to be good.”

“Yes, dear,” you swallowed your despair and smiled stiffly.

“We’re starting over,” he touched your cheek, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you…. dear,” you brushed your hand against his and he tilted his head. His other went to the sleeve of your dress and traced over your collarbone. He picked at the lace trim along the chest. His eyes darkened and he bit his lip.

⛓️now⛓️

You unclipped the cotton from the line and watched the leaves sway along the tree line. You shook the memory from your head. That night, the first night he’d… It happened so many times since, what did it matter?

You dropped the laundry into the wicker and lifted the basket. You went back to the door and stopped. He’d changed the record and the music kept the stifling silence from suffocating you. You stood in the doorway and watched his shoulders as he read.

“Dear,” you said carefully, “I’m ready to come inside.”

He put the book face down on the arm and stood. He crossed to you and you stepped just inside to let him past. He dragged his hand across your stomach as he sidled through the door. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the chain in hand. He secured it in its hook by the bed and you closed the door.

“Once I fold this, dinner should be ready,” you said.

“Alright,” he replied but sounded glum, “you work so hard, honey pie.”

“Yes, dear,” you set the basket on the bed and pulled out one of his shirts.

He was quiet as he sat. You felt him watching you. You stacked the shirts and went to grab hangers for your dresses. With the chain, all you could wear were dresses. Besides, there was no point in trying to be modest.

“You like the player?” he asked.

“Very much, dear,” you said, “it is a nice surprise.”

“Well, really, it’s an anniversary gift…” he remarked.

“Anniversary?” you trembled, only slightly as you pulled the dress over the hanger.

“It’s been one year. Can you believe that?”

“One year?” you repeated, “that’s… amazing.”

“Yeah, I mean, I can hardly remember what it was like before you. Feels like it’s been longer than that.”

“Happy anniversary, dear,” you said numbly and hung the last dress. You put away his clothes in the chest and put the basket back in the corner.

As you turned, you were startled to see him at the foot of the bed. He stared at the pattern of the quilt, his hands on his hips. He never had to say what he wanted, if you made him, it would be worse. You blanched and quickly scurried over. You shook as you climbed onto the mattress and pulled up your skirt.

“Dear?” you quivered as you lifted your dress up your chest. He leaned a knee on the bed and stopped you.

“No, later,” he said as he pushed the fabric back down, “and I want you to keep this on tonight.”

“Okay,” you sat back on your heels as his hands rested on your sides. His eyes lingered on your stomach. He looked sad.

“Dinner should be ready, right?” he drew away, “it smells ready.”

⛓️then⛓️

“I was out all day hunting and I come back to this!” Steve huffed, “you haven’t even started dinner.”

“I lost track of time, dear, I’m sorry--”

“You will be,” he snarled as he crossed his arms, “take off your dress and turn around.”

“Please--”

“Quiet,” he barked and his jaw ticked.

You sniffed and took the dress off. You dropped it over the edge of the couch and neared him. You turned around and he sighed darkly. He grabbed your shoulders and directed you over to the table. He pushed until you were bent over it.

“Stay,” he snarled, “I didn’t want it to come to this but you need to learn.”

You closed your eyes and braced the wood as you readied for another spanking. Your breath caught hover as you heard the subtle tinkle of metal. The leather rested against your ass and Steve tutted.

“I love you, honey pie,” he said, “that’s why I have to do this.”

The first strike was like fire, it burned your skin. The second was worse and you cried out. Your body wracked with sobs as he continued and by the dozenth or so, it hurt even when he wasn’t hitting you.

“I’ll do better,” you whimpered, “please, I’ll do better.”

⛓️now⛓️

You took Steve’s empty plate and your own and rinsed them off. You took the sponge and cleaned them completely and left them in the rack. You heard him behind you and you dried your hands before turning back to him. He stood with his back to you, he was looking at something.

You went to him and he looked at you as you came around the couch. He smiled, almost embarrassed, it was too late to hide what he was holding. He chuckled and held up the sleepers; one in pink and one in blue. “I got one of each… in case…”

You stood speechless. You knew it was a possibility, almost a certainty, but you tracked your periods almost religiously. So far, you’d been lucky. The idea of being out here with a child on top of everything else was more frightening than anything he’d done.

You spun away and covered your face. You began to cry. You couldn’t help it. It was a promise, a promise that you would never get away.

“What’s wrong, honey pie? I thought you’d like them--”

You shook your head but couldn’t stop. You walked away from him, the chain dragging loudly and you fell helplessly to your knees. Fuck him! Fuck him! You bent and beat on the wooden floor as you sobbed.

“Stop this,” his voice turned firm, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” you muttered, “please, I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Don’t be a bad girl,” he warned as he came close, “now it’s our anniversary. Let’s celebrate.”

“I don’t want to,” you uttered, “I never wanted--”

He grabbed you around the waist and wrenched you up. He forced you over to the bed and pushed you onto it. He growled as you turned onto your back and gaped up at him.

“You know what happens to bad girls,” he sneered, “so you have one minute to suck it up and be good.”

You rubbed your eyes and wiped away the wetness from your cheeks. He took off his tee and flung it into the basket, then his jeans, socks, and underwear. His muscles bulged through his skin and his arousal bobbed before him as he came up to the foot off the bed. You got to your knees and gripped your skirts in your sweaty hands.

“How do you want me?” you said crisply as your throat squeezed. The lump stayed lodged firmly there as a nail was set deep in your skull.

“Mouth, first, honey pie, you know I like a warm up,” he stroked his dick and wiggled it.

You crawled to the end of the bed and replaced his hand with yours. Your breath glossed over his tip and you opened your mouth around him. He groaned and gripped his hips as he tilted his pelvis forward. You sank down until he was at your throat and you moved your hand in time with your mouth, easing the intrusion of his length.

“Mmm, that’s it, honey pie,” he purred as his hands went to your shoulders.

Your spit spread down his dick and slicked the motion of your hand. You gulped and gagged as he pushed on your shoulders and you sped up. You bobbed your head steadily. It was a habit, a pattern, you did it all so mechanically. It was easier if you looked at it like just another chore.

He grasped your shoulders and urged you away from him. Saliva dripped from your mouth and down your chin. You wiped your face with the back of your hand and reached to your dress. Finish him quickly and you might be done… maybe, or it would be another endless night.

“No, I said keep it on,” he spun his finger in the air, “let me see your ass.”

You turned around and gathered up the skirt of your dress. You bent over on your elbows as your legs stuck out off the edge of the bed. He kneaded the flesh and hummed as he pulled your cheeks apart. He pushed his dick between them and slid it up and down.

He reached under you and rubbed your clit. His other hand glided up your back and held your shoulder. You were wet, you couldn’t help that even if you hated it. He pushed two fingers inside without warning, then a third. Even after all this time, you were never used to the stretching, even just his fingers.

“Mmm, honey pie, you are so wet,” he stepped back and bent to push his face between your legs. You arched as his lip flicked along your folds and his fingers slipped out to follow it, “you taste so good.”

He stood straight again and licked his fingers clean noisily. He shoved them back into you roughly. He pulled in and out and added his pink. You whined as he got deeper and deeper. He’d never used more than three at a time.

“You think you can take all of it?” he asked.

“Wha--” you voice cracked as he folded his thumb against his palm and poked at your entrance, your juices spreading over his hand as he fucked you, “Ste--”

You gasped as he got his whole hand inside. He seemed surprised too and he bent over you as he forced himself in to his wrist. Your cunt sucked at him hungrily and the noises filled the desolate cabin.

“Good girl,” he slithered as you squeezed around him and his other hand searched for your clit, “look at that, huh?”

He sped up and your arms collapsed. Your head was on the bed as he kept your ass up and played with your bud as he kept his other hand moving inside of you. You whined and moan as the fullness sparked your core and your thighs began to quake. You puffed wildly and grasped the quilt as your orgasm hit and gushed down his arm.

“Oh, honey pie,” he slipped out of you slowly and pulled his other hand away, “what a start.”

He grabbed your skirt with his wet hand and bunched it as he stepped up behind you. He pressed his tip to your entrance and glided in easily. Your walls gripped him even tighter than before, still pulsing from your climax. He reached his limit and grunted.

“Such a good girl,” he purred as he moved his hips slowly, a smooth rock as his free hand stretched over your ass.

You murmured and mewled as he tilted into you. His motion built steadily until his skin clapped against yours. He twisted your dress until it was tight around your middle and he stopped to push you forward on the bed. You dragged yourself up as he climbed onto his knees behind you. 

He picked up his former pace and the bed shook beneath you. He lifted one leg over yours and then the other and pushed them together. He stayed inside of your and leaned on you until you were slat on your stomach. He straddled you as he pushed his shoulders up and gripped the straps of your dress. He rutted into you without restraint as the pressure around him was even more unbearable.

Your cunt quivered around him again and your head lolled back and forth. His hips snapped up against your ass as his thick breaths added to the heat all around you. He snaked a hand beneath you to grope your tit and his other gripped your head. He jerked into you sharply and you cried out, his next thrust sporadic but just as deep.

He spilled into you and your cunt milked him eagerly. You went limp as you spasmed and let the waves swell and crash around you. When he stilled, he stayed inside of you and ran his hands up and down your back.

Once you caught your breath, he began to move again. You were sore and battered. Even if he fucked you every night, it was always too much, and the ache never really left. You moaned and he spread his body over yours, cocooning you in his warmth as he kept his hips rocking.

“Good girl,” he gritted, “good girl,” he pet your head as he kissed your cheek and kept fucking you, “so good for me, honey pie.”

The same day over and over. The same words every night. Again and again and again and again.

[whump-a-la-mode]

A hero is in a coma. Villain visits them every single day, loosing sleep, not eating, their life is now completely focused around the empty hospital room.

Until hero wakes up and notices how sick villain has become due to anxiety and not taking care of themselves. Caretaking?

This is such a cute ask!! There’s only a little caretaking, but as always I’d be happy to write some more ^^

To all non-Americans out there, I am so sorry for using our weird 12 hour clock in this piece

CW//Comas, medical settings, just some horrible self care, mentions of explosions, bad hygiene, sleep deprivation, low self esteem, blaming self, strong language

“How are they doing?”

The voice alone was enough to make Doctor jump, spinning on their heels with such quickness that their shoes squealed on the tiled hospital floor.

Oh. It was just Villain.

Just Villain. It was a ridiculous thought to have, and they were well aware of that fact. Only a few short weeks ago, the name would have been enough to make any well-minded civilian tremble. It was bad enough, to hear it spoken on the news. Worse, to hear it not coming from a television-- in some cases, that name was all the warning one was given, before a terrible fate befell them. A nameless causality in the never-ending battle of good and evil.

But, now, there was no terror associated with it.

Most hospitals, Doctor was well aware, were fortunate enough that villains did not often pass through their doors. When they did, in the best cases, it was to seek treatment. In the worst cases, they had far more destructive intentions.

Their hospital, however, was an exception. There is a saying, that one can get used to anything, and with their experience, they now believed it to be more than true.

Doctor sighed, letting their shoulders fall.

“Visiting hours are over, Villain. You need to go home.”

The villain’s eyes widened, flickering momentarily to the nearest clock. In fact, it was past the end of visiting hours. Well past. Night rounds were about to begin, even.

It was simply so easy to forget Villain, hunched over in their little plastic chair.

Especially with those big, pathetic eyes with which they regarded Doctor.

“I can’t leave.” They pleaded. “Not yet. Can’t I stay just another hour?”

“No, Villain. We’ve been over this. You can come back tomorrow, bright and early, right at seven.”

“But it’s eleven, now! That’s eight hours. Eight hours they’ll be alone.”

“Not alone.” Doctor bit their lower lip. They knew full well that the person before them could render them to a charred corpse in mere seconds, if they so wished. Their tense, skipping heartbeat wouldn’t let them forget it. But, there was no malice in their eyes. Not an ounce. Only that terrible, pitiful sorrow. The sorrow that never seemed to leave them. “There’s people here, all night. A whole medical staff. If anything happens, they won’t be alone. I promise.”

Villain’s lip quivered. Weren’t they supposed to be dangerous?

“You’re sure I can’t stay? Just another hour?”

“I’m sure.”

“O-Okay.” The villain reached into their shoulder bag, and, for a moment, Doctor nearly pressed the nearest panic alarm. Yet, they withdrew no weapon. Instead, Villain took a small, spiral-bound notebook in hand, offering it. “Here are my notes. Um, just so you know. What they did today.”

Doctor’s gaze downcast to the paper. They already had three of these, piled on their desk. Filled to the brim. This one had only recently been started.

The page the notebook was turned to displayed the same thing as all the rest: Impeccably neat handwriting, dividing the page into half hour blocks. In each, letters of equal quality described the patient’s condition, down to the most minute detail.

3:30 - Minor twitching of the eyelids accompanied by singular irregular heartbeat.

4:00 - No abnormalities.

4:30 - Twitching of left index finger.

5:00 - Abnormal breath at around 5:12.

It was the best-kept record of a comatose patient’s condition that Doctor had ever seen. Even if it wasn’t exactly helpful, with how repetitive the patient’s movements tended to be, it was downright impressive.

“Thank you, Villain. I’ll tell the receptionist to expect you at seven?”

“Is there any chance I could come in earlier than that?”

“No. I’m sorry. Visiting hours start at seven.”

“I’m quiet. You know I’m quiet. I won’t be a bother to anybody.”

“I know, Villain. If...” They knew they needed to say something, or this argument would continue all night long. “If anything happens, we have your number on file. I’ll call you myself.”

“Really?” Their eyes widened. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t hide in the bathroom and try to stay late this time?”

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw, Villain. Now, you’ve gotta skedaddle.”

The villain nodded hesitantly, looking to their shoes as they turned, moving down the hallway. As they left, Doctor could not help but mutter in their wake:

“And get some rest.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Six weeks.

Those two words echoed hollowly in Villain’s mind as they plodded along the damp sidewalk, lit only by the dewy echoes of streetlights overhead. The hour was late enough, and the city tired enough, that the streets were nearly deserted-- a state they were in so very rarely.

Their henchmen had spoken to them so many times, lecturing them that moving through the city’s depths, alone and unprotected, was terribly dangerous. Any hero, or any vigilante too cocky for their own good, could try their luck in an ambush.

But, Villain could hardly bring themself to care.

Six weeks.

That was all they cared about.

Six weeks since Hero had moved. Six weeks since they’d spoken, since they’d awoken. Exactly six, now.

Exactly six weeks since...

Villain’s hands clenched to fists at their sides, overgrown nails digging into the meat of their palms.

Since they’d made the biggest mistake of their life. Since the two sworn nemeses, Hero and Villain, light and dark, good and evil, had had their final battle. An industrial sabotage gone wrong.

They should have known better! Better than to use their pyrokenisis in an oil refinery.

But, that hadn’t. They hadn’t been thinking. They never thought! They were so stupid, so reckless, so careless...

Villain’s ears still rung from the explosion.

Their injuries meant nothing, even as they still throbbed. No. Because, for the last six weeks, they had been awake. Moving. Talking.

Hero hadn’t been so lucky.

When they at last arrived at their HQ, the halls were silent. Life existed only in the form of a scattering of guards, nodding their respects, but making no other gestures.

It was with weary legs that Villain ascended to their bedroom. They hardly noticed its state-- they’d grown used to the scatterings of clothes and papers. Instead, upon opening the door, their eyes snapped to the bed.

More specifically, the item upon it. They rushed to it, yanking it off the mussed blankets.

A book. A note, upon its cover.

“Went to bed before I could give this to you. It’s that book you wanted - Henchman”

Villain removed the note, far more interested in the cover it hid.

A Neurologist’s Guide to Chronic Vegetative States

There were more than enough pages within to last them until sunrise; until visiting hours at last recommenced.

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At 5:40, the sun began its ascent, bathing the sky in a dull hue of blue.

When six o’ clock came, the first rays of light could be seen, flashing over the horizon.

With the strike of 6:10, Villain placed down their book. They were only around halfway through-- wandering eyes and brief minutes of dozing lowering the speed at which their foggy mind could process the medical textbook.

They would have more than enough time to read, the next night. The book didn’t matter. What mattered was that visiting hours would commence in 50 minutes, exactly.

Twenty minutes to walk to the hospital. Meaning that, to get there early, they needed to leave in fifteen.

Rubbing sleep from their eyes, Villain rose from their chair, knees popping and cracking all the way to the bedroom door. Quickly, they changed into the cleanest clothes they could find, if only for the sake of appearances, before heading out.

Showering could wait. Showers took time, time that could be spend watching. Reading. Taking notes.

Helping. Doing anything, anything they could to help.

Emerging into the hallway, they startled a moment. The lights had already been turned on, despite the fact that their henchmen never awoke this early. Perhaps they had simply forgotten to turn them off the night prior.

Yet, there were noises, from downstairs.

There was no fear left in their body to feel. Justifications were quickly made, and they ran down the stairs.

Entering the kitchen, a scent hit Villain, forceful as a gust of wind. The scent of food-- warm and fresh and garnished with garlic.

Before the stove, Henchman stood. Out of all those Villain employed, Henchman was the least likely to be awake at such an hour. Often, they dragged themself from bed well after ten.

Yet, here they stood, flipping a pancake in a skillet.

“Hey, boss.” Their henchman turned, a grin glimmering upon their face. “I’m almost done here. Get yourself something to drink.”

Villain blinked.

“What... are you doing?”

“Making breakfast? I thought that’d be pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But... Why? You never eat breakfast.”

“Yeah. It’s not for me. ‘s for you, boss.”

They shook their head, glancing at the clock. 6:17.

“I’m not hungry. Besides, I really need to get going.”

“Boss.” There was an endeared, yet frustrated, tone to the voice. “When was the last time you ate?”

“You made me eat a granola bar yesterday.”

“And the day before that, you didn’t eat anything. So, you’re eating breakfast, if I have to shove it down your throat.”

They clenched their hands to fists.

“I don’t have time for this! Visiting hours are going to start soon. I need to be there.”

“No. You need to eat. Then you can go to the hospital.”

“You don’t get to decide that. I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Boss.” Henchman slid the pancake onto a plate before deftly stepping between their boss and the front door. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but you look like hell. I know you haven’t been sleeping. Everyone knows it. If you keep acting like this, you’re going to be the one in a hospital bed.”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Maybe that’s what I deserve. Now, fuck off. Get someone else to eat your damn pancakes.”

With those words, and furious footsteps, they emerged onto the sidewalk outside.

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When Receptionist arrived at their desk, there was already a patron, sitting in their waiting room.

A few short weeks ago, such would have been unusual. While other parts of the hospital were occupied day and night, the appointments handled by this room did not begin until the hospital actually opened-- right at seven.

Now, though, there was nothing strange about it.

Before they could so much as sit down, Villain was already moving towards them.

Receptionist could not help but note their appearance.

Working in a hospital, they had long since grown used to seeing the sick and injured. And yet, there was something particularly distressing about this case.

They supposed, it was because they had seen it happen. Usually, when patients arrived at the hospital, it was because they could no longer manage their own conditions. Their bodies were in shambles. They showed up in their damaged states.

Villain, on the other hand, had first appeared to the waiting room is relatively good health.

Then, they had begun to appear tired.

And thin.

Now, their appearance matched that of the comatose patient that they were here to see. Skin clung taught about their cheekbones, their flesh pale and eyes glazed over. Most semblances of hygiene had been abandoned entirely; some parts of their hair had even begun to mat, and dirt clung to them like caked and cracked makeup.

But, there was something else in their eyes. The sheer essence of undying compassion.

It was that alone that prevented Receptionist from sending them away.

Villain had no need to speak. As soon as they had time to sit, the hospital employee had paged the proper floor-- a sequence of buttons that had quickly become muscle memory.

“You can go up, now.” They spoke. With a wearied nod, Villain moved to begin their ceaseless watch.

Neither of them could have guessed that, an hour later, the unthinkable would come true.

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When Hero awoke, it was to the sound of a pencil, scratching at paper.

The world filled in with a terrible, exhaustion tedium. Above them, blurs of white and grey turned to a sterile, white tile, while the world about solidified to four pale, beige walls.

A hospital. They’d been in enough to recognize as such, with just how clumsy their teammates tended to be.

But why were they here, now...? Who had gotten hurt, this time? They couldn’t quite remember.

Rolling onto their side, the question was quickly answered.

Villain appeared to be on death’s doorstep, about to press the doorbell. Matted hair clung to their neck, eyes drooping and skin appearing as though there was no blood beneath it at all.

At the very least, they had made it to the hospital before suffering any serious damage.

Wait.

It was only then that Hero realized who exactly was in the room’s hospital bed.

[trashyswitch]

The New Life of a Dying Afton

Michael walks himself to Henry's house, gutted and disintegrating like a zombie. Henry tries to help him as best he can, and reprimands him for breaking their personal past promises.

This fanfic prompt came up after the following question ran through my head: How would Henry react to scooped Michael? This is my take on it! However, I will warn you: it's dark, gorey and quite sad at times. Though it ends on a bittersweet note, it won't change the general tone and gore within the beginning.

So despite that: here's the fanfic.

Henry was watching TV at home, trying to unwind from his day at work. It was getting tiring trying to work the long shifts these days. It was getting painful too. Some of the mechanical engineering he did in his 20’s were starting to get to him and his physical body now. His back often ached and his right hand would grow more and more painful the longer he worked any kind of machinery. Guess you could say he’s going through the Dirty 30’s of his life. Most of the time the pains and aches didn’t come till the 40’s or 50’s! But some people are just unlucky, I guess.

Henry looked at the time on his watch and sighed as he got up and started to make himself dinner. His wife was out hanging out with a few friends, leaving him to eat dinner alone. He threw some leftover lasagna into the microwave and set it to an estimated time. While he waited patiently for it to warm up, Henry grabbed the newspaper and read it for anything even slightly interesting.

He felt like a retired person: depressed, working a small part time job and living in a small, semi-old house. It worked for what he did, but he sometimes missed the good old days. The days William was a good person with only a quirky personality to prove his eventual criminal mind. It’s strange looking back now, remembering the little things he’d do that would later make sense after killing those children. He remembered the times Will would grow numb and distant, especially after something tragic happened. Example: When Chris died. Now, Henry knew that any death was capable of changing a person.

But William...almost snapped and remained that broken way up until he went missing. He almost lost it when he found out a second Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was going to open. Why was he the only one who wanted to throw away the Fazbear Entertainment Business for good?! Was it even salvageable after the killings and the Bite of 87?! He really wanted the whole nightmare in his 20’s to be over. But the Fazbear Entertainment was not helping him to stop thinking about it. They just HAD to try and get profit off the animatronic business. He had sadly started a chain of circumstances that he can’t let go of for his life.

Even though he wasn’t the killer, Henry still felt partly responsible for the huge mess he made of things.

Henry’s thoughts were quickly pushed aside as he heard a knock on the door. Henry looked up and looked over at the microwave. It still had a few seconds left. So, Henry stopped the microwave and walked to the door.

He opened up the door. “Hello-”

Henry shouted in horror and just about died from a heart attack right there on the spot! ZOMBIE!

Henry fell his butt and scooted himself back as the zombie held his hands out. “Henry hold on!” it told him.

IT KNEW HIS NAME?! OH NO! “AAAAAH! SH- SHIT! STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Henry tried to kick the door shut on the crippled, dead looking thing. But to his horror, the walking corpse grabbed his ankle! Henry SHRIEKED as loud as he could!

“HENRY! Henry, it’s me, Michael!” The corpse yelled to him. “Look!” The corpse pulled out his wallet and showed him his health card with a picture on it.

“YOU- YOU STOLE THAT!” Henry tried to tell himself out loud as he looked up at the face. “IT CAN’T BE! MICHAEL’S ALIVE AND FIT, AND-” Henry words started to fade as he immediately recognized the face of the poor boy he knew so well. “I-” He took the health card from him and held it up beside the face of the walking corpse.

Holy crap...it looked EXACTLY LIKE HIM! Except, it looked like Michael hadn’t taken a bath or brushed his hair in weeks! To make things worse, it looked like something under his shirt had been bleeding heavily and staining the shirt.

Henry dropped the health card in pure shock and covered his mouth. “What happened to you?!” He asked as he started to stand up.

Tears started falling down Michael’s darkening cheeks as he reached his hands out, visibly begging for a hug. Henry quickly acted, pulling him into a worried but loving hug. Michael wrapped his arms around him as well, and started crying into his shoulder. He was mentally exhausted from everything he had just been through. He was even partially holding himself up.

Henry rubbed his back and tried to ignore the slightly ghastly smell that was coming from him. He really looked like he was rotting from the outside in. He was secretly hoping the smell was just body oil drowning his skin, pores and scalp. Strangely enough though, Michael didn’t feel moist. He felt...dry. Like super dry. Like heavy amounts of Eczema was covering and destroying his skin bit by bit.

Henry finally pulled away and cupped his purple cheeks. “You...I hate to be that kind of person, but…” Henry brought his hands to his shoulders instead. “You look like shit!”

Michael guffawed somewhat quietly and cracked a yellow, lobsided smile. “I know…” He told him.

“How did this happen? And...do you need some cream?” Henry asked, slightly laughing despite the pain and confusion of seeing Michael so distressed and disfigured.

Michael looked at the back of his own hand, and nodded. “Yes please.” Michael replied, staring at the exposed skin where his nails used to be.

Henry grabbed some cream from the bathroom and handed it to him. Michael sat down on a chair in the living room, and removed the bottle cap. While that was happening, Henry got up and headed to the kitchen to get his presumably hot food from the microwave. He checked his food, and smiled when it felt nice and warm. Henry pulled his lasagna out of the microwave, and walked out to the living room again to check on his less-than-okay nephew.

Michael was putting strips of cream onto his arm and...patting the cream onto his skin instead of rubbing it. Henry widened his eyes and blinked in confusion. That is not how you put cream on. Literally no one puts cream on like that! “Uuuuuh...Doooo you want help? You act like you’ve never put cream onto your skin before.” Henry asked.

“I’m fine.” Michael replied.

HA! That’s a laugh and a half. He is most certainly NOT okay!

“If I rub the cream on like normal, I’ll remove all the skin that’s dying. So I have to be very gentle.” Michael admitted.

Henry blinked and frowned. “Then...is it even worth the fuss?” Henry asked.

“No. But it feels nice and cool.” Michael replied.

“Would...would you rather you had a bath?” Henry asked, placing his lasagna down.

“I’ve tried bathing. But...the skin and hair just falls off and clogs everything.” Michael admitted.

Henry just about gagged at that. Gosh...Whatever happened to him, must be such a pain. He looked down at his plate and...gave it a push away from him. He was quickly losing his appetite. “So what exactly happened to you? Did you get hit with radiation? Are you dying?” Henry asked. “It sounds like radiation poisoning to me. Did you hear about that Nuclear Reactor explosion that happened in Russia?” Henry added.

Michael shook his head.

“A nuclear reactor exploded, and they predict hundreds of thousands of people were exposed to radiation. Hair falling off, skin dying out, and skin color change are all part of it.” Henry explained.

Michael shook his head. “No. I wasn’t exposed to radium. But I did get hit with a metal scooping system.” Michael explained.

Henry tilted his head. “Scooper?”

Michael sighed. “A huge device that looks like an ice cream scooper, that destroys animatronics.” Michael explained.

Henry blinked and quickly looked at him. Did he just say animatronics?!

“Wait wait wait…” Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t get yourself a job at the old pizzeria, did you?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “Circus Baby’s Pizza-”

“Oh my fucking- MICHAEL!” Henry yelled. “We talked about this! I don’t want you having anything to do with your crazy fucking father! I know it’s probably curiosity that led you to do this, but come on!” Henry reacted. “Did none of that curious cat story stick to you at all?!” Henry asked.

Michael groaned. “That was 6 years ago.” Michael reacted.

“Still! It still applies here. The cat wanted to know what was at the bottom of the well, and tried to swim to get down there. But: she died before she got to see the bottom. One small question about your father, and now look at you! Rotting right in front of me!” Henry reacted.

Michael just chuckled at that. “Hey look: I died after getting my answer.”

“MICHAEL! Death is NOT a joke.” Henry spat at him. “You of all people should know that by now.”

“It can be if it happens enough times.” Michael admitted.

Henry stood up, walked right up to Michael and slapped him across the face. Michael widened his eyes and held his hand up to his own face. “That’s for not listening to me and getting yourself scooped like an ice cream tub.” Henry shot at him.

Michael frowned. “Don’t use ice cream as an allegory. I’ve heard it plenty enough for a lifetime from Elizabeth.”

Michael’s angry face morphed into surprise. “You...you found Elizabeth?” Henry asked.

“Mm hmm...Baby’s eyes changed color to match Elizabeth’s eyes.” Michael explained. “And...she was scooped too.”

Henry frowned. “Did you find anyone else while you were there?” Henry asked.

“Besides a ballerina whose voice strangely reminds me of my mother...no.” Michael replied.

Henry sighed and sat himself down. “Come on: let’s...cover up the tub drain with a drain cover, and let’s get you a bath ready.” Henry decided.

Michael looked up at him and looked down again. Something was up with him. But...he wasn’t saying anything.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Or am I gonna have to guess?” Henry asked.

Michael sighed again and started to lift up his shirt. Henry gasped and covered his mouth in panic as he looked at what was left of Michael’s middle. It was just a big, rotting hole of purple with only the lower ribs to identify specifically what was missing.

“Does…” Henry almost felt the need to put his hand in between the hole. “Does it hurt?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Michael gently took Henry’s hand and led it into the hole. The moment his hand went an inch deep without touching anything, Henry pulled his hand away and shook his head in disgust and fear. “It’s okay. Look:” Michael stuck his own hand into the hole, deeper and deeper. Until, he flinched slightly from the strange feeling of his hand touching his spine and nerves. Henry yelped and covered his mouth with his fist with anxiety filling him. He was so nervous he was gonna drop dead at any moment.

Michael removed his hand and gave Henry a smile to show ‘everything’s weird, but fine’. Though the deep red blood on the boy’s hand didn’t help much.

Henry almost shivered. “You sir...are really testing my stomach.” Henry mentioned.

Michael giggled and brought his bloody hand closer to Henry’s face! Henry shrieked and fell right off the couch! Michael bursted out laughing at the reaction, and got up to clean his hand.

“Ew ew ew ew gross- That’s the most inappropriate thing you could’ve done!” Henry reacted.

Michael just leaned forward against the sink and laughed at him. Henry’s reaction was perfect!

“Oh! OH! You wanna laugh now? Alright, you asked for it!” Henry stood right up, walked up to Michael and started tickling his ribs.

Michael yelped. “AAAHAHA! HENRY, WAHAHAIT!”

“WOW! Dead, purple, but still ticklish as ever!” Henry reacted. “Guess your death hasn’t killed off your nerves yet.” Henry brought Michael against the counter, turned him around to lean against his back, and continued attacking his ribs.

“STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT! WHYHYHYHY?!” Michael asked, through his strong laughter.

“Why?! Because not only did you manage to break the many rules we agreed on, but you managed to nearly get yourself killed!” Henry reacted.

Michael grabbed Henry’s hands and held them away as he tried to breathe. “Hohohold ohohon…”

“Okay, okay. Take your time.” Henry allowed him.

Michael looked up at him. “Ihihi...Why though? Why did I live after...getting scooped?” Michael asked. He didn’t wanna tell Henry about Ennard, knowing he’ll flip even more if he mentioned a sentient animatronic that wanted to disguise himself.

Henry’s looked down a little and bit his lip. “Well…” He took a moment to think of how he was gonna tell him. “The only way I can describe it...is by giving it a name. I call it ‘The Afton curse’.” Henry explained with an awkward chuckle.

Michael frowned. “...Ouch. I know my family has a bad wrap, but I’m still an Afton too.” He admitted.

“I know, I know. It affects more than just the Afton family as well. Example: my little Charlie.” Henry admitted.

Michael looked down.

“Basically: The Afton family and those who’ve known William, have the unfortunate habit of possessing animatronics.” Henry explained. “But you seem to have gone down a new option: zombifying.” Henry explained.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “You sound like an alien conspiracy theorist.” He told him.

“I know, I know. But it’s the only way I can explain the ‘possessing animatronics’ thing.” Henry mentioned. “Also, it doesn’t exactly help that the children William killed also rotted in the animatronics.” Henry added.

Michael made a disgusted face. “Great...I’m rotting without an animatronic to hold me together. And I’m stuck with this family curse because I’m genetically linked to a killer.” Michael groaned. “I have never wanted to slap my father across the face more than I do now.” Michael admitted.

Henry laughed a little. “Don’t we all?”

Michael smiled at that. “Can we...stop talking about the ‘Afton curse’? And maybe go back to the ‘You died! Time to tickle you!’ thing?” Michael asked.

Henry laughed and was taken back. “Really?!”

If Michael could have blushed, he probably would’ve at that very moment. “I mean...yeah! I kinda feel like laughing-” Michael’s explanation was quickly interrupted by a pair of hands tickling his ribs again. “HeheheHEHAHAHAHAHA! OHBOY- OKAHAHAYHYHYHY!”

“I don’t think I fully remember just how ticklish you are. I doubt you even remember either! It’s probably been a while since you were last tickled.” Henry admitted.

“YOHOHOHOU THIHIHIHINK?” Michael reacted.

“Yes! Now hush. I wanna hear some squeals and snorts from you.” Henry ordered jokingly as he lifted one of his arms up.

“HEHEHEHEhehehe...Henry, don’t even think about it!” Michael ordered. Henry only smirked at this and wiggled his fingers really close to his armpit. Michael yelped and developed a wobbly smile with nervous giggles spilling out.

Henry couldn’t stop his evil facade from breaking. He soon dropped his wiggling hand and started laughing. “Ihihi’m nohot even tickling you!” He reacted.

Michael tittered into the side of his closed fist. “Cahahause ihihit’s the suspehehense!” He explained.

“The suspense? For something you told me you wanted?” Henry mentioned. He started wiggling his fingers again and finally touched down on the vulnerable armpit. Michael shrieked like a bat, and completely lost himself in his laughter. “Wow!” Henry reacted. “I don’t mean to sound insulting, but you sound a little like the Joker.” Henry admitted.

“HEHEHEHEY! IHIHIHIHI’M OHOHOFEHEHEHE-”

“Offended? Did I offend the son of a famous killer? Are you gonna vow vengeance on me and get him to kill those who bully you?” Henry teased.

“WHAHAHAHA?! HAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Michael shook his head and kicked his feet wildly.

“Oh, you’re not?! Thank goodness! I would’ve been a goner!” Henry teased.

Michael kicking started to reach Henry’s belly and waist, leading Henry to grab his feet. “Hey now! Who told you you could kick me?” Henry asked.

Michael’s laughter fell into giggles once again, mixed with panting. “Sohohohohorryhyhyhyhy.” Michael told him.

“I’ll forgive you, but you gotta promise me-” Henry pulled off his socks, “you’ll never try and kick me again.” he started skittering his fingers onto his foot.

Michael threw his head back and snorted before falling into rapid giggles. “Hehehehehehehenryhyhyhyhyhy! Nahahahahahahaha!”

“Wow! You’re still able to talk after all this? Your lungs must’ve grown extra strong when you died!” Henry teased, giving Michael’s chest a couple pats.

Michael’s giggles paused, and were quickly replaced with coughs. Henry quickly let his foot go, walked up to Michael and patted his back to help him cough it out.

“Ohohow...Ow. I think my lungs are broken.” Michael admitted.

“Was tickling you a little too much?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “No. I needed that. Thank you.”

Henry smiled and fluffed his hair. “You’re welcome.”

Michael’s eyes went cross-eyed when he felt a bunch of his dead hair falling down his face. It felt weird. Henry widened his eyes and looked down at his own hand:

It was completely covered in Michael’s hair.

Henry looked down at his hand, back up at Michael, back at his hand and back up at Michael again. Not sure how to react, Henry rubbed the hair from his hand onto Michael’s chest. Michael laughed at this and just took it. Guess all the zombie jokes can be made. Starting after his drain-clogging bubble bath.

[seacottons]

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

[wwenhlimagines]

"Making Love With The Radio On" - Elias Smut

(Part 2 of More Than Anyone)

Warning: smut, curse words

Dedicated to @jazzy-tzw, @team-elias, and other Elias fangirls

Song: Making Love With The Radio On by Gavin Degraw

2 weeks after your period started aka first day of ovulation

Rolling over in bed, your hand lands on the soft sheets instead of your husband's muscular frame. You open one eye and look around the room to see his side of the bed empty and cold. You pout lightly as you reach for your phone to see if he texted you.

"Good morning gorgeous! I've gone out to the gym and then I will go to the store on the way home. See you in a couple hours babygirl! I love you ❤"

You smile to yourself as you text him back. "Good morning handsome! Enjoy your workout babe and come home to me soon 😜 I love you too."

While you have some time to yourself, you take a shower and prep your entire body for the evening with your husband that you have been waiting for. Elias decided he didn't want to "waste the good ones" so he has refused to let you touch him for 2 whole weeks. He seems to be going to the gym more to distract himself and work on his stamina for you. You have also refused to release any stress in that way so both of you are wound up and ready to devour each other. After shaving, moisturizing, and styling your hair, you put on some light makeup and get dressed with Elias's favorite blue lingerie set underneath your outfit. You look over yourself in the mirror before you head out to the living room to relax and watch some tv.

About an hour later, Elias walks into the house with a few bags from the store and sets them in the kitchen before walking over to you. His hand cups your face as he leans down and kisses your lips softly before leaning his forehead against yours. "Well hello there wifey!" You smile and kiss him back "Hi hubby! What have you bought at the store?" He smirks and sits down next to you allowing his right arm to land on the back of the couch and his left hand softly caressing your thigh. "Well, maybe you will find out in a little while, but for now I'm going to start making lunch for us." You give him another kiss before he gets up to prepare lunch.

10 minutes later, you were bored of the show you were watching and decided to go check on Elias in the kitchen. You walk into the kitchen and smile at the sight in front of you. Elias has replaced his shirt with an apron along with some workout shorts and his hair in a bun. He hums lightly to the music his phone is playing and you can't help but sneak up behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, but under the apron, startles him slightly before he relaxes into your arms and flexes his abs to entice you further.

"Is there anything I can do to help Chef Elias?" He smirks and turns towards you to give you a wink before replying, "Well I guess you could help handle the sausage." He focuses back on the chicken breast and veggies in front of him as you moan lightly and trace your fingers over his abs. "Oh how I've missed your sausage. It tastes so good and it makes me feel amazing." He cracks his neck before he adjusts his position in front of the stove and leans slightly back into your arms. "Well babe it's going to make you feel better than amazing all day today...after we eat." You pout at the last part and bring your hands to his back and start lightly dragging your nails up and down his back. He shifts nervously before you start leaving slow sensual kisses all over his back and letting out small moans with each one. Elias groans before taking the food off the heat before throwing it onto the plates. You stand back and watch as you slowly start to unbutton your blouse and turn on a Gavin DeGraw song.

I tried giving up

Walked through quite enough

Had to call it a day

Elias rolls his eyes before he walks over to you and kisses you roughly as his body traps you against the counter. His hands take over for yours as your blouse comes off your body and his eyes take in the blue lace bra. "Babe, you know this set is my favorite on you. Are you trying to please me for some reason?" You bite your lip as his lip meet your neck and his hands grab your ass. "Oh don't worry babe, your pleasure is my pleasure. How do you feel about the leggings?" You turn around and lean over the counter letting your ass rub against his hardening cock. The song continues as you slowly grind on your husband in the middle of the kitchen.

So I loosened my lips

And let a little prayer I memorized

Do what I just wished

And suddenly, to my surprise

Oh, DJ, when you play my song

Make me feel bigger than an old King Kong

At the risk of this coming out wrong

Feel like making love with the radio on

Elias turns you around and lifts you onto the counter before his lips attach to yours feverishly. You moan into the kiss as his hands give your ass a light smack.

Oh, every time I hear that jam

Grabbed my baby right by her hand

Even if my day was going all wrong

Feel like making love with the radio on

You let your hands wander to his apron and you quickly get rid of it so you can run your hands all over his muscular chest and torso. His lips start to travel down your neck as he pulls your hips to the edge of the counter to connect with his. You wrap your legs around his waist as he travels down to leave kisses all over your chest. He knows you can be insecure about that area, so he makes sure to show some extra love to your breasts.

Don't you call it a flaw

Everybody needs some a peace of mind

It should be the law

To take a little private time

Elias reaches behind you to unclasp your bra and fully immerse himself in your chest. You squeeze your legs to bring his hardening cock close to your wet core and thread your fingers through his hair. His head continues to travel down before he releases your legs from around his waist and sets you down on the ground. You sneakily let your hand travel down his pants to grasp him and slowly start pumping.

"Babe, you can't be doing that right now. I need everything I have to end up deep inside you." You smile and remove your hand before turning away from him and pulling your leggings off. He groans behind you before he pins you up against the counter and drops his pants. His dick rests on the low of your back as he plays with the sides of your thong.

Oh, DJ, when you play my song

Make me feel bigger than an old King Kong

At the risk of this coming out wrong

Feel like making love with the radio on

After a few seconds of internal contemplation, Elias decides to remove your panties and lift you back onto the counter. You press your chest against his and give him a passionate kiss before you pull away and whisper, "Put a baby in me Elias." He takes quick action to enter you and start making a slow rhythm with his hips. Your eyes stay connected to his as his dick stretches you open just right. Your breathing starts to deepen as his hand reaches down to rub slow circles on your clit in time with his thrusts.

Oh, every time I hear that sound

Engine running and I'm homeward bound

Even if my day was going all wrong

Feel like making love with the radio on

Elias starts to lose his rhythm and you grab his ass to encourage him to keep going. "That's it Elias, just like that." You moan as his thrusts start getting deeper and harder. He attached his lips to yours and your tongues danced together as his thrusts got stronger and your pussy started clenching onto his dick. You pull your lips apart and breathe onto his lips. "I love you so much Elias." He kisses you again and pulls you closer before pulling back. "I love you so much more Y/N." You rest your foreheads together as your orgasm takes over your body. You gaze straight into his eyes and see nothing but love as your body trembles beneath him. A couple thrusts later, Elias moans out your name as you do the same before his thrusts send his cum deep inside you. His thrusts slow down, but he stays inside of you as you lazily kiss and giggle lightly. 

"I can't believe our baby may have been conceived in our kitchen." Elias quirks an eyebrow at you before he responds. "Excuse me? Who decided to start dragging their nails over my back knowing that is a surefire way to get me going?" You roll your eyes and bop his nose before retorting, "Who was cooking shirtless knowing that's my biggest turn on?" Elias blushes lightly as he bites his lip and chuckles lightly. "Fine, we are both at fault...but now we can eat!" You smile as he helps you down and brings the food over to the couch. You put on your panties and top before following him with his shorts in your hand. Elias looks back at you, "Why did you put clothes back on babe?" You throw his shorts at him and sit down on the couch. "Because I know how easily distracted we can become when we are naked and I'm hungry." Elias puts on the shorts and smiles as he sits down next to you handing you a plate. "Well then, eat up princess, you've got two episodes of Schitt's Creek to eat and recover before it's your turn to take charge. By the way, I got some massage oil at the store in case you want to use it." You smirk over at him and dig into your food before relaxing into the couch and thinking about how the rest of the day will go.

[dc41896]

Or Not?

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

Summary🪄: River and Chris plan the perfect Mother’s Day surprise, but actually get surprised themselves.

⚠️: None, all fluff💕!

A/N: Another addition to the River series I thought about releasing for Mother’s Day (which has now passed 🤦🏾‍♀️ lol). I honestly don’t feel the best about this, but I hope you guys like it☺️!

“What do I do with this?,” River asks holding up the small bag of lemons as he and his father enter the bright kitchen illuminated by the sunlight still brightly shining outside.

“I’ll take it bud,” Chris smiles placing the plastic bag on the counter next to all the other ingredients he’d need to use for tonight. “Now both of us need to wash our hands so we can start cooking for mommy.”

This Mother’s Day, both Evans’ boys wanted to do something extra sweet to show their appreciation for the special woman in their lives. And what sweeter way than make dinner for you?

A little after you left for a day of relaxation and pampering at the spa with your mother- and sister-in-laws (an additional gift planned by Chris and their respective husbands), the duo journeyed to the grocery store for everything he’d need for your honey garlic Salmon meal served over rice with lemon butter broccolini. Now staring at the recipe in front of him, he just hoped he didn’t destroy this one like he did with your pancake breakfast a couple weeks ago.

In his defense, how was he to know the chocolate chips would make them stick to the pan, which also claimed to be “non-stick”.

“Daddy, you sure about this?,” River asks holding up his arms so he could be lifted onto the counter.

“Of course! You doubting our skills?”

“Well, I thought mommy always cooks ‘cause you can’t?,” he innocently asks making Chris dramatically scoff before tickling the little boy’s sides, filling the kitchen with wild giggles and chuckles.

“I can cook, okay? Your mom just likes her cooking better....and so do I,” he admits before turning back to his laptop screen to read where he should begin. “Now, how do I tell if this is the Salmon with the skin?”

———

Slightly reaching on his tip toes, River carefully sets the silver fork next to the steaming plate nicely arranged and waiting for you to enjoy. Chris timed it just right that a few minutes after you texted you were on your way, he began cleaning his used dishes and plating everyone’s food. He prayed it tasted as delicious as it looked, but if not at least he made something picture worthy he could pass off as a win.

The jingle of keys unlocking the front door signal both and Dodger (not quite understanding what was happening but not wanting to be left out), to take their positions in the foyer with River holding a bouquet of flowers as he rested on Chris’ hip.

“Happy Mother’s Day!,” they smile as you enter the air conditioned home. Your hand instantly finding your heart as you audibly aw’d at the sight in front of you.

“Thank you my babies!,” you beam wrapping your arms around both of them kissing your son’s cheek before joining your lips with you husband’s. “More gifts?”

“Mhm! We saw these at the store,” River answers giving you the mixed bouquet filled with an assortment of deep purples, pinks, and reds. Bringing the beautiful bundle to your nose, you try to take in their floral scent but another more overwhelming one makes it difficult for you to revel in.

“D-Did you cook fish?”

“Yea, Salmon. Why?,” Chris states growing a bit concerned from the discomfort he could see in the slight shift of your body language.

“Nothing I just, uh, need to use the bathroom really quick. You guys go ahead and eat, I’ll be back soon.”

Handing off your latest gift, both boys watch you hurry down the hall to your bedroom throughly confusing them due to your sudden lack of excitement for one of your favorite dishes.

“Mommy doesn’t like it?,” River asks looking up at his father with disappointment laced in his small voice.

“Noo, she loves it bubs! You and Dodge go put these on the table while I go check on mom.” Taking the flowers and doing as he’s told, Chris eventually follows your path to find you in the bathroom leaning over the sink with your head resting on your folded arms taking deep breaths. You’re startled feeling his larger hand gently drag up and around your back in soothing circles, but you dare not sit up to avoid further nauseating yourself.

“Hey what’s going on? Last time you were like this you were-.” He stops himself just as your shy, tired eyes turn to meet his, silently conveying he was on the right track. “Wait...seriously?”

Seeing the small, ziplock bag holding the two positive pregnancy tests you removed from the top drawer nearly brings tears to his eyes, as he leans down sweetly kissing your temple over and over with his body enveloping yours.

“We were getting our nails done, and after a while it’s like I couldn’t stand being in the room. Your mom just thought it was all the scents getting to me, but then I realized I’m late and, well here we are,” you weakly laugh. “Sorry I ruined your dinner plans.”

“Aw sweetheart don’t worry about that. Me and River will take care of it.”

“Mommy? You okay?,” a quiet, apprehensive voice asks from the bathroom door.

“Yes honey I’m fine,” you smile from his concern, “but daddy and I need to show you something.”

Inching closer to where you two stood, Chris lifts him to rest on his hip as soon as he’s close enough holding the clear bag in his free hand.

“What’s that?,” River asks tilting his head at the two pink and white marker looking objects his dad was showing.

“These are tests mommies take to know if they’re gonna have a baby or not. You wanna know what the ones your mom took said?”

“Mhmm!”

“Well according to this plus sign,” Chris explains, “you’re gonna be a big brother.”

His lips spread into the widest smile as his arms stretch above his head nearly smacking his father’s jaw on the way up. A very enthusiastic “yes!” falls from his lips causing you and your husband to softly laugh.

“The baby fairy came!”

“She did bud! And now we wait a few months and we’ll find out if it’s a girl or a boy.”

“I hope it’s both!”

“You mean you hope it’s twins? Like two babies?,” you ask. Mentally making any deal you could for that not to happen as he nods his head with a toothy grin.

“Twins would be cute though babe,” Chris adds with his own innocent smile making you sigh.

“Well sweetie, we’ll also have to wait and find that out too. And if it is, then mommy’s gonna invent a machine where she can swap bodies with daddy.”

“Ohh cool!”

“When you get older, I’ll explain how it’s not as cool as you think,” he whispers.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeydulcewrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @lovelymari4 @melinda-january @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[fredheads]

wip w(thursday) - college au

FP jolts awake at half-past-eight to a sound like the house is coming down. He sits up in bed, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes, and squints in the light coming through the window. There it was again - a shuddering, grinding noise that made the base of the lamp rattle violently on their night table. Then a crash. 

Half-expecting an earthquake or fire, he stumbles downstairs in his boxer shorts. “What is going on here?” he yells, bypassing the kitchen to storm into Gladys’ room.

Gladys turns to look quizzically at him from where she’s standing on a kitchen chair, Fred’s cordless drill held in one hand. There’s a hole leaking plaster in the wall in front of her, and a crooked wooden shelf held up by two twisted metal brackets. 

“I’m putting up shelves,” she declares, flicking the bangs out of her eyes with one hand. FP storms over to investigate the damage. 

“Like hell you are. You wrecked this, look.” He points at the splintered brass brackets holding the shelf to the wall, where Gladys had driven the screws so deeply into the plate that they’d cracked. The metal was dented inward in an alarming state. He pulls on the lip of the wood. “This is going to-” 

“Be careful!” Gladys snaps. With one sharp tug FP had removed the entire shelf from the wall, sending plaster crumbling all over the floor and their feet. Gladys gapes at him. 

“Why did you pull it out!” 

“I shouldn’t be able to pull it out! Did you even try to put it in a stud?” 

“It was stable enough until you got your big mitts on it,” Gladys gripes, lining the drill up with the last bracket on the second shelf and firing the trigger. A truly horrible noise erupts as she grinds the screw into the plate, plaster crumbling down from behind the bracket as the metal bends. 

“Augh, stop!” FP covers his ears. “Some of us are trying to sleep!” 

“Oh, grow up.” Gladys steps down off the chair and plants her hands on her hips, cocking her head to examine the shelf. “I’d ask you if it’s straight, but I wouldn’t want to over-tax your neanderthal brain.” 

FP slaps the shelf, and it falls immediately to the bedroom floor, the ill-fated screws and metal plates jangling away into the corner of the room. Gladys’ mouth drops open, and the shock on her face is so funny that FP bursts into unexpected laughter. Suddenly he’s choking as Gladys swings the flat of her hand hard into his throat, pushing him several steps backward and effectively cutting off his windpipe. 

“Sorry,” she says flatly, removing her hand as FP wheezes for breath and tries not to gag. He doesn’t get the sense that she apologizes for much. “Force of habit.” 

“Fuck.” FP holds his throat, struggling to breathe. “Where did Fred find you, again? The mob?” 

Incredibly, Gladys just tilts her head back and laughs deep in her throat. She really was pretty when she laughed. Not that he was looking. But they could have done worse as far as Fred’s hopes of finding a cute roommate had gone. 

“Did you have to come down here naked?” she asks finally. FP glances down at himself. He’d grown hot in the middle of the morning and swapped his sweatpants for the first pair of boxer shorts his hand had touched in the drawer - a gift from Fred last Valentine’s Day with huge pink hearts all over them. 

“Well, I thought there was an earthquake, didn’t I?” FP gripes. “Give me that. Fred has a stud finder upstairs.” 

He swipes the cordless drill out of her hand and storms back to their bedroom. When he comes back down with Fred’s toolkit in hand, Gladys is sitting on her dresser with a mug of coffee. 

“You want?” She indicates a second mug on the small end table. FP takes it begrudgingly and gulps from it. It burns his tongue, but it’s as delicious as the pot she had made yesterday. 

“Watch and learn,” he says, sliding the stud finder along the wall. He roots in Fred’s toolbox for new brackets and nails, carefully mounting the hardware before setting the shelves on top. Gladys begrudgingly holds them as he fires the nails in.

“I lost this chapter of the lesbian handbook,” Gladys says wryly. FP’s surprised - he hadn’t thought she’d had a sense of humour. It also makes his shoulders prickle in a weird way that he’s never been able to shake, the same odd, out-of-depth feeling he gets when he’s talking with other gay people. He’s not used to it - doesn’t know if he’ll ever be. Gladys keeps chattering away, oblivious to his discomfort. “Cars are what I’m good at. Don’t go to the student garages if you want an oil change, they’ll rip you off. I got it handled.” 

“Do I look like someone who can’t change his own oil?” 

Gladys raises an eyebrow but shrugs complacently. FP glances awkwardly down at his boxer shorts again - he had considered changing when he’d got upstairs, but hadn’t wanted Gladys to think it was for her benefit. “My apologies to your masculinity.” 

She bends down and starts picking up the bent nails, piling them in her hand and ignoring him. The shelves stay put. FP hovers awkwardly, not sure where they’re leaving this conversation, until Gladys stands up, brushing her hair out of her face. 

“I’ll take it,” he says, opening his hands so she can dump the busted nails in. But Gladys doesn’t hand them over. 

“I didn’t grow up with much either,” she says measuredly. “My mom raised me alone on waitressing tips for the most part. I got here on my scholarship and from selling weed to a bunch of freshmen all throughout high school.” She shrugs and empties the handful of nails into his palm. “Just wanted to say I get it. But don’t think you’re the only person here struggling.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” says FP flatly, being purposefully exasperating. He can’t keep himself from being rude sometimes - it’s a defence mechanism as reliable as his drinking had been. But Gladys seems nonplussed, turning around and ignoring his reply. She starts piling books from her desk onto one of the shelves and stepping back to admire them as though he’s not in the room. After a while FP turns around and lets himself out, feeling grumpier than ever for a reason he can’t quite place. 

[asthora]

Fruit

A fenhawke one shot I wrote based on a prompt a friend sent me! I am currently living in fenhawke hell and loving every minute!!!

~~

They’re in Lowtown today looking for an Antivan merchant named Vincento. They find him in the bazaar selling odds and ends, broken plates of armor and dull daggers that make Isabela cringe. Hawke gets the information out of him easily, he’s not hard to startle, but it leads their search to a temporary dead end and Hawke is left standing in the street with her companions, watching as Vincento hurriedly packs up his pitiful wares and runs off towards the docks.

“Well,” Hawke sighs as she watches him scurry away. “That was helpful I suppose but Samson doesn’t come slinking out until after sunset. Should we head to the Hanged Man?”

“You know me Hawke,” Isabela says with a wink. “I’m always game to start drinking early.”

“Anders?”

He smiles his easy, gentle smile. “I could certainly go for a pint.”

“Only a pint, magey? What about a couple of shots and we see where you can put that staff of yours?” Isabela purrs, tugging on the collar of Ander’s coat.

He blushes and swats her hand away. “We’ve still got work to do, Isabela.”

The Rivani pouts. “All work and no play makes Anders a dull boy. What about you, Hawke? Up for shots and a bit of wrestling?”

“As long as we aren’t drinking rum I’m fine with whatever.” Hawke says, her eyes sweeping across the bazaar. “By the way, has anyone seen Fenris?”

Her companions shake their heads.

Hawke bites her lip and her hand twitches towards her staff. It’s midafternoon in Lowtown. Apart from the occasional pickpocket or footpad, Lowtown is normally peaceful during this time of day. It’s when night falls that you have to watch out for ambushes and bandits. She isn’t crazy, Fenris was just here. He’d been quiet the whole day, not very happy that she’d brought Anders along to find Feynriel, but he’d been by her side since early morning when they traveled to the alienage. It’s more likely he roamed off rather than some Lowtown cutthroat pulling him into the shadows.

Anders lets out a long sigh and leans against his staff. “I’m sure he’s just wandered off, Hawke. Probably to go piss in a corner like the dog he is.”

“Maker, Anders. Really?”

“Why don’t Anders and I head to the Hanged Man and you catch up when you find the pretty boy?” Isabela smiles, stepping between the two. “Sound like a plan?”

Hawke nods but she’s not really listening anymore, nor does she really care about Ander’s snide remarks. Isabela steers Anders in the direction of the Hanged Man while she scans the stalls again, looking for a familiar head of white hair among the midafternoon crowd. It’s hot today, even more so with the dozens of people who flit from stall to stall, and she sweats uncomfortably as she meanders through the crowd. Hawke checks the weapons stand first then the man who sells plated armor and robes. No luck.

She’s getting nervous now. Fenris never just wanders off. He’s quiet, sure, but he’s not one to just disappear into thin air without a reason. Hawke takes the steps up into the portion of the bazaar where vendors and shopkeepers sell spices, exotic fruits, brightly colored linens, and fresh meat. The smell here is different from the rest of Lowtown. That weird stretch that hangs over the city can’t seem to penetrate the aroma of cinnamon, incense, and cooking meat. She passes a vendor selling candles and body oils then another who’s handing out samples of whatever mystery meat he has roasting on a spit. She takes one and eats it, idly, as she shoulders her way through the throngs of people.

Finally, she sees him.

He’s tucked between a woman selling carpets and a family of dwarves hammering away at copper jewelry. Fenris is bent over a basket of fruit, something small and brown rolling around in his palm.

“There you are,” she says cheerily. “Thought I’d lost you to some Lowtown crime lord in the market for one glowy elf.”

Fenris glances over his shoulder. “I did not mean to worry you.”

She smiles, hoping it looks reassuring. “What did you find?”

He looks at his closed palm and frowns before opening his armored fingers to reveal a small brown fruit.

“What is this?” He asks, his brow furrowed.

Hawke laughs. “Why, it’s a kiwi. What, never seen a kiwi before?”

He shakes his head and Hawke feels a bit guilty for laughing. She hadn’t meant anything by it but Fenris’ look of bewilderment is just so...cute.

“And what is this?” He asks picking up a much larger fruit from the basket, this one in shades of red and yellow.

“It’s a mango,” she says. “Do they not eat fruit in Tevinter?”

Fenris shakes his head. “Danarius did not like foods like these.”

Hawke takes the kiwi from his palm and tosses it in the air. “Everyday I’m surprised by how much I can hate that man. Do you want to know a secret?”

Fenris looks up from the mango and nods. There’s a look of innocence on his face that makes Hawke’s heart beat fast in her chest. She leans in closer. He pulls back a bit but stops when he realizes she does not mean to touch him.

“When I first came to Kirkwall,” Hawke whispers. “I’d never seen food like this either. It’s not like mango trees and kiwi vines grow in Ferelden.”

He frowns again and looks back at the baskets of colorful fruit. He points to another, this one brown and fuzzy. “Did you know about those?”

“Coconuts?” She asks, following his finger. “I’d read about them in books.”

“Are they good?”

Hawke grins. “Do you want to try some?”

He nods and reaches for his coin purse but Hawke shakes her head. “I’m buying. Think of it as a thank you for saving my ass from that greatsword wielding bastard who almost cleaved my head in two yesterday.”

The corners of his mouth jerk as if to smile. “You should watch your right flank more closely.”

She shrugs. “I don’t have to if I’ve got you around.”

Maybe she’s imagining it, but Fenris’ cheeks turn pink. He looks away before she can be sure, once more bending over the baskets. She watches him sort through the different fruits, his careful fingers turning over mangoes and pomegranates, his touch gentle as if he is afraid the fruit might fall apart in his hands. She lets him pick whatever he wants and soon they have their own little basket overflowing with oranges, kiwis, pineapple, and a whole assortment of tropical fruits. She pays for it all like she promised, glad that he’ll at least allow her perform this simple act of friendship. Fenris doesn’t like actions he perceives as pity. Hawke wonders if this means he trusts her more, maybe thinks of her more as a friend rather than a raging apostate lunatic.

He tucks the basket under his arm proudly and Hawke’s heart does that weird fluttering thing again. Maker, she can’t be possibly falling for him, can she? That’s insane. Like he would share her affections anyway, he hates all things magic and she’s about as magic as they come save for Anders. But lately she’s noticed her cheeks growing warm when he smiles and a giddiness coursing through her veins when she sees him after several days away from the city. She hasn’t dared act on these feelings, afraid she’ll scare him off if she bats her eyelashes a little too hard. She wants him to know she’s a friend, not someone who feels sorry for him, not someone who wants to use him.

He surprises her when he gently touches her shoulder then points to an empty place on the steps. “Would you...like to sit down for a moment?”

Hawke nods. Her skin tingles where he touched her and she doesn’t trust her voice not to waver so she follows him to the stairs and sits beside him. She makes sure not to sit too close, but not too far away either. He seems comfortable, excited even, as he sets down the basket and grabs one of the kiwi.

“How do you eat it?”

“Well,” Hawke smiles, taking the fruit from his palm. “I normally cut it in half then scoop it out with a spoon but we can do this instead.” 

She takes her dagger from her boot, thanking the Maker she decided to clean off the raider blood this morning, and peels away the thin skin. She glances up at Fenris as she cuts a slice. His eyes are wide in wonder. 

“Here,” she says, offering him the slice off her dagger.

He has removed his spiked gauntlets so that his hands are bare. She marvels at his long tan fingers, his gentleness as he grabs the fruit. She has never seen his bare hands this close. The lyrium markings stretch down his fingers; white, silvery lines that she cannot help but think are beautiful despite their foul origin. He pops the kiwi in his mouth and his eyes go wide.

“It is good!” He announces, his lips stretching into a grin.

Hawke smiles and cuts herself a piece. “I think It’s one of my favorites.”

“It is sour,” he says, licking the juice from his fingers. “But also sweet.”

“We got a ripe one. Good eyes, Fen.” She says, bumping him playfully with her arm. She doesn’t realize what she has done until after several seconds pass and he has not leapt away from her sudden touch. He seems shocked at his own reaction as well, his fingers hovering over the kiwi she has offered him. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, glancing up at him, under her lashes.

His fingers twitch as if coming back to life and he takes the fruit and chews it slowly. “You did nothing wrong.” He says simply.

The tension between her shoulder blades relaxes. “Do you...want to try something else? What about the orange? We can save the pineapple for later.��

He nods and wipes his hands on his trousers before reaching for the orange. He turns it around in his hands then offers it to her. “How do you eat this one?”

Hawke sets down her knife. “This one is easy. I’ll let you do it. Dig your fingernail in right there and then peel the skin back.” 

“Here?”

Hawke raches out and with her own nail she makes a mark in the soft flesh. Her hand passes over his and her skin brushes against his own, the touch featherlight but enough to send electricity running down her arms. He flexes his fingers. Did he feel it too? She dares to look up at him, blue eyes connecting with green. That flush is back in his cheeks and Hawke realizes they are very close, so close she can smell him. He smells like leather and cloves and sweat. She takes a deep breath and holds it, committing the scent to memory.

Fenris blinks, his dark eyelashes fluttering. He rips his gaze away from her own, the action painfully slow. Her eyes linger on him for a moment longer before she looks back down at the orange. He begins pulling back the skin, the orange peel falling to the steps unceremoniously. He hands her a chunk of the soft fruit and they eat together. He smiles.

“It explodes in your mouth,” he says. “The juice is sweet.”

She nods. “We had oranges back in Lothering. They somehow could make the journey that far inland. If times were good Mother would  buy enough oranges to make a pitcher of juice.”

His eyes go wide. “And that is good?”

“I honestly think it is better than the oranges themselves. I’ll ask Mother to make you some. We haven’t had it in awhile anyway.”

“That would be nice.”

He smiles softly and they finish the rest of the orange in silence. She feels their small moment coming to a close and she hopes there are more moments like this in their future. For once, Fenris is unguarded, happy. Again she finds herself damning Danarius, hating him with every fiber of her being. He took so much from Fenris. Can she help him create a life? A life that he can call his own, one without masters and bad memories? Will these small moments eventually turn into longer ones? Or will the pain she sees etched on his face refuse to leave him?

She feels his walls go back up as he slips on his guantlants and fastens the leather straps. Hawke clears her throat and wipes her hands down her trousers, trying to find that easy grin she plasters on her face for the rest of the world to see.

“I told Anders and Isabela we would meet them in the Hanged Man.” She says, standing to her full height and stretching her arms above her head.

“Was it a wise decision to leave them alone?” Fenris asks, his lips turned up in a slight smile.

“Probably not!” She says brightly. “We might have to peel their drunk asses off the floor of the barroom! At least Varric will be around to help.”

Fenris chuckles and tucks the basket under his arms. “If that is the case, then we must hurry before they are too far gone. Lead the way, Hawke.”

Hawke turns on her heel and heads back into the bazaar towards the Hanged Man where she is sure her friends have already found themselves in some sort of trouble. She glances over her shoulder, making sure she hasn’t lost him in the crowd. He’s close. Her eyes catch his own and there is a moment that passes between them that she doesn’t think can be mistaken for anything but longing. She turns her head before it can disappear. A smile breaks on her lips and she welcomes her fluttering heartbeat.

[siren-queen-imagines]

Happy Ending

I’m going through the Wayback Machine and bringing over some fics that I wrote when I was imaginingwwesuperstars!! Well, at least what they have archived…and has been edited since the original post…I hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

**SMUT WARNING**

Another month down.

You started working in the WWE as an assistant medic for the past 3 months and so far, nothing bad has happened to you yet. You haven’t accidentally hurt anyone further or rub anyone the wrong way. From what you gathered, everyone seemed to like you to an extent. You were even invited out a few times with some of the girls.

But going out in big groups wasn’t really your thing. You considered yourself a bit of a loner. You learned more so to appreciate your quiet and down time since working here because it can be so hectic at times. Despite that, you did truly appreciate the effort that some of the girls put forth in getting to know you. In fact, there were times you would find yourself sharing a table with Becky Lynch. She noticed your introverted nature from the beginning and always made sure to never push you to go out or anything like that. You were so grateful that she had been nothing but sweet to you. In the beginning, you were worried about making friends and meeting all these big personalities…but you had made a friend in Becky and it helped with the anxiety of being the newbie around the company.

You were sitting in catering, enjoying a late lunch while watching Daredevil on your Netflix app.

“You know, I think Corbin has a little crush on you.” Becky said, sitting down next to you with a bottle of water. “Sorry to interrupt you.”

“What?” You asked, looking up at Becky with wide eyes as you removed one of your headphones.

“Baron Corbin. I swear, anytime you two are in the same room, he’s always staring at you.”

“He could be looking at something near me, Beck. Doesn’t mean he likes me.” You denied.

“Trust me, it’s you. He’s got good taste. You’re cute and pretty awesome. Own it.”

You were about to reply when your phone went off. You got a message from Jan, one of the medics you’ve been working with, to come back to the trainer’s office. Chad Gable messed up his knee in the ring and she could use your help.

“I gotta go.” You told Becky, grabbing your empty plate. “I’ll see you later, Becky.”

“Bye, Y/N.” She smiled.

You walked out of catering, very aware that eyes were following you. You didn’t even bother to see if Baron Corbin was even looking but they also could’ve been Becky’s. You arrived in the office to see Chad grimacing in pain as Jan spoke to him and Jason.

=================================

“How are you feeling, Chad?” You asked, handing him a bottle of water as he watched the show from the trainer’s room.

“Eh, a little tender still.” Chad replied as he took the water bottle and you checked his knee.

“Okay. Well, your results shouldn’t be long now. Just relax for a little longer, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Y/N.”

You offered him a small, comforting smile as you gently patted him on the shoulder before leaving him be.

“Hey, Y/N?” Jan called out, walking over to you as she came back into the room.

“Yeah?” You replied.

“I have Gable’s results now. I also have a massage set for Baron Corbin in like a minute or two, his shoulder has been bothering him. You think you can take that for me while I talk to Gable?”

“Uh—uh, yeah. Sure.” You stuttered, your mind immediately going back to what Becky said earlier.

“You don’t sound so sure. If you don’t want—”

“No, it’s fine. I can do it.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Jan smiled at you.

You went over to the other side of the room to get everything ready for Baron. You hoped that if Becky was right, you didn’t make an idiot of yourself…that was the last thing you needed considering that you found Baron attractive. You didn’t dare tell Becky that because she would never let it go.

“Hey.” You heard a deep voice call from behind you. You turned around to see Baron standing there. “I’m here for my shoulder massage.”

You nodded and motioned for him to have a seat on the table. Baron took his seat and removed his shirt as you closed the door. You breathed in sharply, admiring his tattoos. You were a sucker for those tattoos. You snapped out of it when you noticed he was watching you.

“So, uh—uh, which shoulder is it?” You asked, turning back towards the supplies, grabbing some massage oil.

“Right.”

You nodded and put some oil on your hands, rubbing them together before beginning to work on his shoulder. Things remained silent between you two for a bit…mostly because you didn’t know what to say.

“You’re concentrating really hard on my shoulder there.” Baron said, watching you ever since you started.

“I wanna make sure I get it worked up.” You mumbled.

“So, how are you liking our little slice of paradise?”

“It’s good. I like it here.”

“Like here, right here right now?”

You blushed deeply as you paused for a moment, causing Baron to smile. You noticed him smirk and decided that maybe two can play this game. You weren’t all that good at flirting, but it was worth a try to get him back. You went back to work on his shoulder, digging in deeper. You noticed his eyes closing and you could’ve sworn you heard a light moan come from him.

There were nerves that got in the way the first few chances, but you finally leaned in towards his ear.

“That feel good, Baron?” You whispered into his ear.

“Mmm hmm.” Baron quietly replied, his eyes remaining closed.

“You want me to dig a little deeper?”

“Yeah.” He whispered.

You dug a little deeper into his shoulder, earning a very audible moan from him. You stopped for a moment when you looked towards his lap…you didn’t expect that and now you just felt awkward…you were trying to give him a taste of his own medicine, not turn the guy on…Baron’s eyes opened as he looked over at you. He stood at his full height in front of you, slowly walking towards you, making you take a few steps back. This continued until you were backed into the wall. He leaned into you, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in. You shakily took a breath as you felt Baron’s nose rubbing up against your neck…you felt yourself getting wet.

“Y/N.” Baron whispered into your neck. “Let me have you.”

“Baron…” You whispered back, your eyes closing when Baron placed feather light kisses on your neck.

“Please…can I have you?”

You sighed as Baron gently suckled on your pulse point. Your fingernails lightly scratching the back of his head. 

“Yes. Take me, Baron.”

Baron growled as he crouched down for a moment, grabbing a hold of your butt as he lifted you against the wall. Your legs wrapped around him as your lips finally met. You felt one of Baron’s arms move away from your body. You were about to pull away and ask what he was doing when you heard the click of the lock on the door.

Baron grabbed a hold of your butt again as he moved you away from the wall and over towards the table. He sat you on it and ran his hands up your shirt, pulling it over your head. You reached back to unhook your bra and you felt Baron’s fingers reach for the straps. Baron’s lips moved from your lips to your left shoulder, kissing his way down as he lowered the strap.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” You whispered to him.

“I’ll take my time with you later then.” Baron replied.

He was planning on a next time...oh hell yes.

Baron undid his belt and his jeans while you did the same. He helped you jump down and pull your pants and panties off. He sat you back on the table and began to play with your clit. Baron kissed you to keep the volume down as your co-worker was in the next room with Chad Gable and possible a visiting Jason Jordan.

“Baron.” You whined against his lips.

“I gotta make sure you’re ready for me, baby.” Baron replied, his middle finger moving to your entrance. “Fuck, you’re soaking for me already.” He kissed you once more as his finger entered you, causing you to moan into his mouth. “Shhh, baby. Shhh.” He smiled as he added a second finger, watching you as you bit down on your bottom lip.You felt him start off slowly before increasing his speed.

“Fuck, Baron.” You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come on, Y/N. Get it, baby. Cum.”

Before you knew it, your felt yourself topple over the edge, Baron’s mouth covering yours, capturing your moans. He kept going as you rode it out, your body shaking a bit before he removed his fingers. You watched as he sucked on his fingers, tasting you.

“Goddamn, you taste so good.” Baron told you as he lined up his cock with your entrance. “You ready for me?”

“Yes. Please, Baron.”

You bit down on your bottom lip once more as he slowly entered you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into you when he filled you completely. You held back a moan, pretty sure that you were about to draw blood from your lip.

Baron’s thrusts started off slow and steady as you adjusted to his size.

“Do I make you feel good, Y/N? Hmm?” Baron asked as he picked up the pace.

“S-s-so good.”

“Yeah? You like the way I fuck that pussy?”

“So fucking good, Baron.”

Baron’s thrusts got harder and faster causing the table to shake beneath you. He thrust into you harder, causing the table to bump into the wall and he paused for a moment. He needed to control himself and not make too much noise. He didn’t need you getting caught and possibly lose your job.

“Please don’t stop.” You practically begged.

Baron couldn’t deny you. He continued with his current pace, one hand on your waist to hold you in place while the other was threaded into your hair. He kissed you roughly as he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release.

“Fuck…oh fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, Baron…cum for me.”

He went harder and faster…and you could’ve sworn deeper as you felt yourself ready to fall over the edge with him. You felt the hand on your waist go between you to play with your clit.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out loud, biting into his shoulder as you came all over his cock.

Baron buried his head once more into your neck to mask his grunting and groaning as he emptied himself inside you.

“Fuck.” Baron growled as he continued thrusting into you, filling you.

You and Baron panted, remaining in place for a moment as you both worked to catch your breath. Baron moved from your neck to kiss you once more...when a knock interrupted you.

“Hey, is everything okay in there? I thought I heard the f-word.” A voice called from the other side of the door…it was definitely Jan’s.

“Y-Yeah, it’s fine. I just dropped some of the massage oil.” You replied quickly as Baron remained inside you.

“Okay.”

You heard Jan walk away from the door before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did your shoulder even hurt?” You had asked Baron after a moment as he pulled away.

“No.” Baron replied with a smirk as he put his pants back on.

“So you were planning this...?”

“No. I actually planned to ask you to dinner. Sex in the trainer’s room was a surprise. But I’m not complaining.” You couldn’t help but smile as you shook your head, dressing yourself. “So...you still wanna have dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You teased.

“If you want, after, we can go back to my room for round two.”

Baron pulled you close to him and kissed you.

“Well, how do you expect me to say no to that?”

[walks-the-ages]

Sugar Rush Cream Peppers!

December 10th, 2020 :)

Here you can see what they look like growing on the plant, the different shapes they take, the slight purple coloring (from the cold temperatures when they were outside, apparently, not sunburn like I first thought), average size compared to my hand, and some detail pictures of the 'standard' shape they're 'meant' to take, then, last but not least, a size comparison with one of my larger Peruggia F1s.

These Sugar Rush Creams were grown from seed from Baker Creek (Rareseeds.co/m) earlier this year rather late in the summer, and I am currently overwintering the plant indoors!

I've probably harvested 20+ peppers out of this one container, and that's from a plant that was started really late lol. I can't even imagine how many peppers I will get next year, assuming it survives the winter (so far it is thriving!)

Out of every single ripe pepper I have harvested, I am saving every single seed, and I am also taking cuttings to clone it as well!

These peppers are very pretty, it was hard at first to know when they were ripe, and the color probably doesn't come through in the picture, but they go from a yellowish, greenish color to a pale white; once they actually look white, they're good to go!

When I eventually find the dehydrator, it would be interesting to dry them into powder, since I'm not quite sure what to do with them at the moment, lol. I DID toss the ones I had in the fridge into a skillet with my harvested sweet Peruggias and sauteed them with some canned chicken and instant rice so that was fun but like. I need more recipes.

As far as heat goes, I have NO idea right now what the average scoville units are for these but they seemed.... Uh, about the same as the green jalapenos I tossed in the skillet? Maybe a little less hot? Or the heat didn't last as long as the jalapenos. Idk. I like them either way!

Just make sure when you are seed saving from ANY HOT PEPPER, YOU NEED TO WEAR GLOVES, NO EXCEPTIONS!

Wear gloves. Do not touch your face. Do all the hot pepper seeds at once, and properly dispose of the gloves and wash your hands (hot water and lots of dish soap!) before you handle any other seeds that need processed.

You do not want "jalapeno hands."

Especially if you have long fingernails and bite your nails as a stim. Capsaicin oil gets under your nails and is almost impossible to remove.

Jalapeno hands literally make your hands /burn/ like you touched a hot plate, and often doesn't set in until hours after you handled the peppers.

Seeds and the placenta/pith that holds the seeds in the place has the most capsaicin in the pepper, which is why you should be very cautious around any hot pepper seeds, not just dried ones.

If you DO get jalapeno hands, lemon juice is supposed to work well according to Gordon Ramsay, which I will try next time if it happens to me again lol. First time I just had to sit it out and lie awake all night as my hands were tingling and burning lol. Do not be me. Heed the warning of the seeds.

Anyways, scaremongering aside, I Highly recommended these pepper to grow, especially if you like pretty ones!

[golden-deer-dear]

Sing Me to Sleep, Claude x Byleth Fic

Summary:  There are fears that keep them both up at night, fears at seem to disappear within the other's presence. So they will cling to each other, taking these small moments to rest.

Notes:  So, my birthday is usually not a good day for me, because family and all that. But this year, this fandom, and a particularly wonderful discord server, has already made it a lot better than it usually is. And since I really enjoy giving gifts, I decided I was going to write something on my birthday to thank you guys for just being wonderful. Love you all. Go out and have a good day for me!

Read on AO3.

Sing Me to Sleep

Byleth took a deep breath, tilting her head back to gaze at the stars above. It was catching up to her, the weariness she tried to fight away. Her body felt heavy and slow, making her movements drag. She was going to become a liability in battle if she did not get some rest soon.

But that was another problem all of its own. Byleth sighed, her head dropping back down until her chin touched her chest. Her eyes drifted shut for a split second before snapping back open. No! She could not close her eyes! Not yet at any rate. She needed to find a way to regain her energy without actually needing to sleep.

If only such a thing were actually possible. She sighed for a third time in as many minutes. Even researching the topic was becoming a problem. Every time she tried to read, the words simply swam in her eyes and she could not retain any information.

“That’s a lot of worry you seem to have there, Teach. Want to talk about it?”

Byleth’s head snapped up, and she blinked a few times to clear her vision. Claude stood in front of her, his signature grin on his lips. But it was his eyes she focused on. There was no joy there, only worry. That was the last thing she wanted. She had tried so hard to hide her problems from the rest of her comrades. Claude especially did not need anything extra on his plate right now. He had the Alliance to worry about as well as being one of the leaders in this war. She could not be another thing drawing his attention away from his ambitions.

She shook her head, the movement making her dizzy. She wobbled ever so slightly, trying to grab onto the railing of the bridge in a way that seemed natural. But of course Claude’s sharp eyes tracked the movement, and the smile fell from his face. Still, she tried. “I’m all right, Claude. You should go get some rest.”

“I can say the same to you, my friend,” Claude shot back. He stepped up to her, crossing the distance so fast Byleth’s tired mind did not realize he had even moved until his hand was on her elbow, giving her another branch of support. She took it instinctively, leaning into his touch and fighting the urge to simply fall.

"Come on," Claude urged gently, one arm wrapping around her shoulders as he tried to guide her away from the bridge. "Let's get you back to the dorms."

"No!" Byleth protested vehemently. She ripped herself away from him, staggering as her body fought once more to stand on its own. Her fingers tore at the stone of the bridge as she grasped her new support, breaking a few nails in the process. "No, I'll be fine, Claude," she said, breath still coming in heaving gasps and doing nothing to reassure either of them. 

Claude wore open worry on his face for the briefest of moments, gone so quickly Byleth was surprised she was able to catch it flash through his eyes. "Come on," he repeated. "This isn't doing you any good. Tell me what's wrong." He moved toward her again, slipping his arm around her shoulders once more, all the while watching for another sign of protest dictating he should move away. "Let me help, Teach."

Byleth shivered as his warmth settled around her, clashing with the chill of the night air she had lingered in for so long now. She did not want to tell him. She had not wanted to tell anyone, for there were larger concerns to address than her own fears. For that was what it was, fear that kept her eyes open when the moon had long lingered overhead. And yet, the words poured out of her, her mind too tired to protest or lie, giving up the fight in the face of Claude's genuine concern. 

"I'm scared to close my eyes," she finally admitted, speaking the words that had haunted her ever since she woke to find the world so changed. "What if I sleep for another five years? What if I leave you all again, and this time when I wake you aren't there? What if I sleep even longer this time, and wake up to only dust and ruins? I'm so afraid I won't wake up. Every time my eyes close this tightness grips my chest and keeps me from breathing."

Claude's arm tightened around her, drawing her even closer to his side. And that was dangerous. He was so warm and comfortable Byleth could feel her eyes growing heavy with every step they took. 

Her eyes shot back open, realizing only now they had left the bridge and were almost past the officer's academy. Her breathing quickened, knowing it would not be long before they reached the dorms, before they reached her room. She turned, exhaustion transforming her into a panicked animal as she attempted to flee. 

But Claude held her close, unwilling to let her go a second time. "Teach, it's okay," he tried to reassure her, his voice soft and low. "You're going to wake up this time, I promise. I'm going to be beside you all night, and in the morning if you don't wake up on your own, I'll wake you up myself. And then those pretty green eyes of yours can watch the sun come up with me, and we'll actually get you some breakfast for once." He ended his words with a light laugh, his hand squeezing her shoulder. 

Byleth mulled it over, turning his words in her mind as she attempted to process any of it. By the time they reached her room, her tired brain had grasped onto his promises, desperate for any sort of relief. “You’ll stay?”

“Of course.” 

Claude opened the door to her small room, guiding her to the bed in a twirl. Byleth felt for that brief moment she was in a dance, Claude spinning her away before he would pull her back into his arms. But he didn’t bring her back, much to Byleth's surprised disappointment. Byleth’s legs hit the bed and she sank onto it, her eyes struggling to stay open. She needed this so much, but it had frightened her. 

But Claude had promised, so things were different now.

Claude knelt before her and began to remove her boots. Byleth was very glad for the darkness in the room hiding her suddenly heated cheeks. His hands were sunlight, even through her tights. It was intimate, but in the way one friend cared for another, absolutely nothing more than that. (Byleth was very much lying to herself in that instant.) It was over in the span of a heartbeat, Claude standing and easing off her coat before guiding her down onto the bed. 

Somehow he got her under the covers, tucking her in tight. A memory, almost as old as her, surfaced in her mind. Her father stood over her, his face stern as he brushed the face from her face. Go back to sleep, kid. Those nightmares can’t hurt you.

Byleth blinked, the vision of Jeralt fading back into her memories. Claude removed his own cloak, slinging it over the back of her chair before settling himself in. She watched as he crossed his arms in front of him, his chin resting against his chest. 

“Claude?” 

His brows raised without his eyes opening. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, Teach.”

Byleth ignored him. “Are you really going to sleep in that chair? It can’t be comfortable.”

There was enough moonlight filtering in through her small window that she could see Claude smirk, the kind that would reach his eyes if they were open. “Not the worst place I’ve ever slept before, my friend. Now, do me a favor and sleep before you cause my poor heart to ache.”

She wanted to. Every bit of her body screamed for rest, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Looking at him made her chest feel funny. It had ever since she walked back up those stairs and he had greeter her as if she had not left for five years. He was precious to her, she knew that much, but all her Deer were important. Why did it feel so different with Claude? 

A low hum caught her ears, cutting off that confusing train of thought. The melody chased it all away, every doubt and uncertainty. And then he opened his mouth, Claude’s low voice singing in an unfamiliar language, but it didn’t matter that she could not understand. It made her smile all the same. It was gentle and sweet, like the wind in the leaves or a river in summer. It was right.

Byleth finally allowed her eyes to fall shut, Claude’s voice an echo chasing away her fear.

/

Claude knew he was being ridiculous. He knew his current anxiety was all just a part of his own imagination. Still, it did not stop his feet from finding their way to her door. He stood still as a statue, looking like a complete fool with his hand hanging inches in front of the wooden barrier, unable to bring himself to knock.

“Claude?” Her voice was low with exhaustion, a lilting quality to the question.

His hand moved to the back of his head, gloved fingers running through his hair as he turned to face her. “Hey, Teach!” he greeted, voice too high and smile too wide to fool her.

Byleth stood there for a long minute, silence stretching on a thin string between them while her green eyes when through him, her gaze piercing him like an arrow through muscle rendering him unable to move. Claude felt he could not even breathe until she broke the sudden thickness in the air by stepping forward. Byleth worked her way past him, opening the door and motioning for him to follow. 

Claude breathed deeply when he stepped into the room, lingering in the doorway to allow himself time to take it all in. Lavender from the fresh flowers on her desk combined with the smell of oils used to clean weapons and fresh linens, giving the place a smell that was uniquely Byleth. He briefly wondered which of the girls had picked flowers for her this morning. He knew Marianne, Mercedes, and Lysithea rotated the daily gesture between themselves. (Annette was gently encouraged out of the rotation after breaking a fifth vase.)

It was a reminder that she was there, that she had come back and Claude wasn’t in some waking dream where she would disappear again. He couldn’t handle that. No, he had spent five long years hoping, working through and finally realizing why his heart ached every time he thought of her. He could not lose her again.

“Claude?”

Claude blinked, breaking himself out of his stupor and silently cursing himself for not paying attention. From the concern in Byleth’s eyes he knew it was not the first time she had called his name. “Ah, sorry Teach. Must be more tired than I realized.” Claude tried to laugh it off, rubbing the back of his head again. He knew it would not fool her. Byleth always seemed to see right through him.

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?”

She asked it casually, like she was commenting on troop movement rather than inviting him to something more intimate. Claude felt himself freeze, wide eyes staring at her as his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. Of course he wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. For Byleth to be his lover, to hold her in his arms in a way no one else ever would. Claude wanted it as much as he wanted to unite the world together.

Something in his face must have given away his thought process. A light blush made its way across Byleth’s cheeks, just visible in the moonlight. She held his gaze, but her eyes filled with uncertainty. “I meant on the bed.” She flinched ever so slightly, seeming to realize her words only further served to muddy the situation. “I...I haven’t been sleeping well, not since the last time you were here. I wanted to ask you to stay, but I’d hate for you to sleep in the chair all night again.”

“Ah,” Claude said on the exhale of a sigh, using the moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t mind.”

Byleth cut him off with a sharp look. “I do. I saw the way you were rubbing your neck the next day. I’m not about to have you in pain when there’s enough room here for us both.”

Byleth removed her coat and tossed it over the back of her chair. Her boots and armor pieces followed next, leaving Claude flushed as he watched her strip. He breathed deeply through his nose and forced himself to look away when she began to remove her top. Byleth apparently had zero qualms about propriety, a sentiment Claude would usually share, but under the circumstances it felt like a violation.

He did not raise his head again until he heard Byleth throw the covers back. She wore only a pair of sleeping shorts and a loose top, but the sight of her in the moonlight sent his heart beating fiercely. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Byleth assured him, but there was a lost look in her eyes that broke Claude’s resolve.

He stepped forward, quick fingers removing his overcoat and cravat. The sash with its woolen poms came off as well before Claude settled himself on the edge of the bed. He used the long moments he took toeing off his boots to steel his mind, before flipping over dramatically to face Byleth. She shook her head, snuggling her cheek into her pillow, but her eyes sparked with joy. 

There was enough room that they were close without touching, but he could feel the heat of her body. The scent of her invaded his nose as he repositioned head on the pillow. “Better, my friend?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, straightforward as always. “Thank you.”

Claude watched, mesmerized as her fingers toyed with the edge of the covers. Her eyelids drooped, but for whatever reason he could see she was fighting to stay awake a little longer. “What is it?” he whispered, fighting the urge to reach out for her hand. 

Byleth drew in a deep breath before she answered. “That song you sang last time. Could you sing it again?”

A brilliant grin spread across Claude’s face, making Byleth flush and bury her face in her pillow. It was adorable how unafraid she had been to ask him to sleep with her, but this request made her hesitate. 

Claude opened his mouth, unable to deny her request. His low voice filled the room with the simple melody, stumbling only for a moment when Byleth finally closed her eyes.

Oh the stars above

Shine to light my way

Light my way 

Back to you

Sleep well

Sleep tight

Oh precious one

For when you wake

And the stars have said their goodbyes

I shall be at your side

And your smile

Oh it shall light my way

In their stead

“Those aren’t the same words you sang before,” Byleth whispered when the last notes faded, her voice low as she fought off sleep a moment longer.

“No,” Claude admitted, unable to help himself from leaning in closer to her. He was smart enough to know there was no point in denying it. “They weren’t.”

Byleth hummed lightly, unconsciously snuggling closer to Claude’s warmth. “Claude, you promise to wake me up again, right?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately. He did not know what made him continue, again being so reckless with his secrets. It was as if her mere presence was intoxicating him, loosening his tongue easier than any drink. “Just promise you’ll be here in return.”

Byleth’s eyes flashed open, suddenly awake and aware. Realization stirred something in those mint green depths. She reached out, entangling their fingers together beneath the covers. “Promise.”

/

Byleth watched in horror as Claude once more spiraled downward. But this time his body did not land in a broken and bloody heap. This time, the wyvern had enough time to right itself before it crashed into the earth. The impact threw Claude from the saddle, but she saw him roll onto his side and moan.

Byleth stumbled toward him, blood flowing from her nose and filling her mouth. She did not have another divine pulse in her. She would not have been able to save him if she had failed this time. She could not lose him. She needed to make sure, needed to see that stupid smug grin of his to know he was all right.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude groaned through bloodied teeth when she reached his side. “You look terrible.”

Relief surged through her, and Byleth dropped to her knees beside him. The battle was coming to a close, and there were others capable of cleaning up. Right now, she could not bring herself to be anywhere but here. “I can say the same to you.”

Claude grinned, wincing in pain when he tried to sit up. He dropped back heavily, breathing raggedly. And yet that grin stayed in place. “Are you saying you don’t find my rugged good looks appealing? I’m hurt.”

Byleth ignored him, pulling magic to her fingertips to pour what little white magic she knew into his body, a desperate attempt to ease his wounds. She felt herself wavering, fighting to keep herself upright. She should stop, she knew she should, but the sight of Claude unmoving before her filled her mind. Despite the man himself joking in front of her, the thought of him broken and ruined refused to let go.

“Hey!” She heard him call out to her, but it sounded very far away. “Hey!” This time he grabbed her hand. Byleth gasped softly as she was pulled down beside him, Claude clutching her to his chest. “You’re going to overdo it there, my friend.”

She buried her face against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat loud and reassuring. It was what she needed to break her out of her fervor. Byleth crumbled silently, shivering in Claude’s arms as she fought through emotion after emotion trying to overwhelm her. Claude didn’t complain. He held her tight, giving her the time she needed. 

“Hey, I just realized something,” Claude said lightly once she lay still in his arms. There was still a hint of pain in his voice, but his breathing sounded almost normal again. “You’re on the wrong side of the bed.”

Byleth blinked, taking a moment to process what he meant before realizing that she was indeed lying on the opposite side of him than she usually did when they shared a bed. Byleth’s face scrunched in displeasure. It felt odd, not wrong but slightly off, but she was too tired to care. She snuggled back against Claude, letting her eyes fall shut.

Before she drifted off, she could have sworn she felt his lips press against the top of her head. “Me too, By. Me too.”

She did not know how long she managed to sleep before Hilda’s squeal of joy woke them, but it was definitely not long enough.

/

Claude was so happy his heart could burst. The sun was setting, the last of its rays clinging in Byleth’s hair, just as Claude clung to her. She sat curled in his lap, comfortable in each other’s presence and basking in the glow of their shared feelings. Byleth hummed contentedly as she repositioned herself, leaning her head back against his chest to listen to his heart.

The offensive organ beat faster, betraying his eagerness to her. “Are you sure it’s supposed to do that?” Byleth asked, a concerned frown on her face.

Claude chuckled, low and heavy, relishing the way it made her shiver. “Yes By, I’m sure. It’s because you make me happy.”

“That doesn’t seem very convenient,” she countered. And yet she kept her head in place, listening to the steady rhythm. 

The last of the sun’s light finally vanished behind the mountains, and the stones around them quickly grew cold. Claude sighed and stretched his legs. What he would have to do now would be among the hardest things he’d ever have to do in his life. “I need to go,” he said softly, kissing the top of Byleth’s head.

Byleth sighed unhappily and lifted her head. She remained curled in his lap, her hand rising to cup his cheek and guide him in for a kiss. The metal of her ring was already warm from her hands, and the feel of it sent another jolt of happiness through him.

Their kiss was sweet, a reminder of love against the other’s lips, a need to imprint the memory of their touch against the other. The hungry desperation of their first kiss hours ago had mellowed into a more subtle longing. This would be the last time they held each other in who knew how long, and they each needed for the moment to last.

“I’ll be back,” Claude promised again, whispering the words against her lips.

“I know,” Byleth answered back simply, her trust in him unshakable. And that was something Claude could not linger on. He was having a hard enough time as it was.

“You’ll take care of yourself, right? You’ll be able to sleep?” he added, clarifying what most worried him.

Byleth’s smile was so warm, her eyes full of so much love, Claude came very close to saying screw Almyra and never even entertaining the thought of leaving her side again. “I’ll be fine, Claude,” she reassured him. Her other hand reached up, framing his face with her small sword calloused hands. “I have your ring with me now. I know you’ll come back for me, so I’m not worried. Of course,” she drawled, mischief finding its way into her smile, “I’d much rather your warmth beside me, so don’t take too long.”

Claude flushed, feeling the heat of his blush all the way to the top of his ears. “That was too adorable.”

Byleth’s nose scrunched, that barely there tick of annoyance when she was mildly displeased. It just made Claude laugh and pull her tight against him once more. “I won’t be long. If anyone attempts to delay my return to you, they’ll have a very unpleasant time of it.”

Byleth’s breathy laugh made his heart do that moronic swelling of a fool too much in love for his own good. He would cling to his memories of her, to this moment. Nothing would motivate him more than the thought of once more cuddling into the same bed as Byleth, sharing her warmth as they intertwined with one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I tried to get that song to format correctly, but ugh tumblr. 

[lodsamone]

the okay ones

select entries from ffxivwrite2020 that DON’T make me want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment

they are still really rough though and not proof-read so please please please ignore the sloppy, of which there is a lot

here’s a gdocs link for easier reading,probably, since tumblr kinda sucks at this

#1 Crux

The table is arranged for one. The parasol casts perfect cover and is adjusted every bell to keep it so. From atop this hill there is a view of the house, and a view of the sea. It is a scene from a painting, one you’ve seen before. It’s been some time.

You set the tray before him, though it is not your job to do so. That which is favored is put within reach: cherry tomatoes, caramelized pears, the yolks of hard boiled eggs. The tomatoes disappear first. He pops the skin with his incisor, sucks it dry, and swallows.

“Does it disgust you?”

The two of you have not discussed it yet. A sneer in his voice is nothing unusual, but this one, you can tell, has purpose.

“No more than it does you.”

Obscurity does not thrill him. Aggression does not suit him. If the tangerines still had skins to peel, he would do so vigorously.

“How mercenary.”

Now he is laughing. You do not share in the humor, but you will grant him his shield. That he told you, and that you still remain - it does not need to be said plainly. For you, there is something greater.

#5 Matter of Fact

“Don’t give the tarts to Mrs. Patsy, she hates sweets and you’ll upset her stomach.”

Lauda frowns at Mrs. Patsy. Mrs. Patsy smiles back, ever joyous.

Lauda moves the plate of tarts to the other side of the table. She holds it between the nails of her thumb and forefinger. Setting it between the teapot and the fruit basket is a precision art. She is careful not to disturb a single piece.

“Pour her some tea, Lauda. Be careful not to splash any on her dress this time, she was awfully down about that, for a whole sennight too.”

It feels a terrible waste to serve fine tea to toys, but that is not Lauda’s concern. The tea is still hot - it must be - and its miniature container is painful against her fingertips. Not a single drop astray. She returns the teapot to rest, and waits.

“Won’t you offer her some cream and sugar?”

“...Mrs. Patsy does not like sweets.”

“Silly Lauda, it’s only polite. She’ll decline and then you can offer her cheese and crackers, which I am sure she will like. But make sure you put those between her and Ms. Glorygold, she always wants some of whatever she’s not having.”

#7 Nonagenarian

He can smell her from the threshold of her room. Amidst the dark he can see her hand, the last branch of a dying tree, gnarled and giving way to rot. Her chest rattles with every breath. The weight of the linens seem enough to snuff her out entirely.

Eamon cannot see her face from where he stands but her fingers twitch, pulling at the sheets with paltry strength. Her rasps grow deeper. Eamon plants his feet but the weight of her call is too much, and she pulls at the roots he grows in vain.

His mouth is dry. As he grows close, rasps turn to mutters. Thoughts spill into broken words, ruined by lips too feeble to drink. She looks him in the eye and speaks in slurs. He hides the tremble in his hands behind him, and hangs on to every word in the hope the next releases him.

#9 Lush

A clear memory: you find her in the gardens, and she tells you she is with child. The hibiscus are in full bloom. Recent rain has weighed down the grandest of them and you watch moisture seep into the hem of her long skirt, her long sleeves. Marian pulls a flower close, jostling droplets from its leaves. It seems a comfort to her as she watches you sideways, an unsure smile on her lips.

She is blooming, brighter than any seed might grow, you are certain of it. With a smile you congratulate her and relief raises her shoulders. Why should she worry? It pulls at your chest but you dare not speak it.

You watch the sleeve fall from her wrist. You ask: “did you tell him?” 

“Yes, I did. In the morning, when I was certain.”

You push her further. “And?” It stresses you to press, but you cannot place her unease.

A blush rises to her cheeks. The memory brings her joy. The sight of it puts a twist in your stomach, painful and pleasing both.

“He was happy, very much so. And relieved. It seemed all sorts of things, really.” 

Marian smiles up at you and her eyes do not match it, yet there is no break in her expression otherwise. What she fears she will not speak, and you will yourself to be content with it.

“Good,” you say. She reaches out to touch your forearm, her palm smoothing down to your wrist. Her skin is cold. She squeezes to reassure herself, yourself, and you watch the falter of her smile, the pale line of her neck. You daydream your fingers at the base of her ear, the soft skin at her jugular, the ridge of her collarbone. Is she not cold? Would she shiver, if you touched her?

She jostles your wrist. “Oliver? Is something wrong?” She leans to the side and her smile grows wide, playful. “What are you thinking?”

Red hair spills over pale shoulders. An urge to chase them bubbles within. The memory grows unclear.

#11 Ultracrepidarian

It’s a Mhachi relic, he says, no two ways about it. A silk cloth covers his grubby little mitts as he turns the piece over, as if it might be dangerous. Etchings on each face of the fist-sized cube catch the light as it rotates. The auctioneer becomes overzealous in his motions, and pretends to let slip the silk as he catches himself with a nervous chuckle, and his eyebrows waggle in a suggestion of near-danger. Swyngeim snorts. It is a convincing display, if nothing else.

“What are its origins?”

“It came into my hands by way of an old associate - one who has dealings with adventurers. Why, he’s grown so bold he camps himself outside their popular jaunts and greets them on their way out, ready with offers!” The thought is humorous enough for both of them, he seems to think, and so he laughs twice as hard. His cheeks split wide open, turning sickly red.

It’s a hard task to look at him. Swyngeim focuses on the Meracydian relic. It is old, very pretty, but sadly useless. She thinks to tell him, to see if that face of his can grow any more red before it bursts.

“My Lord might be interested,” Swyngeim says. She holds a hand to the back of her neck and pops it loose. The plush bed awaiting her at the inn calls to her. “I’ll speak with him tonight, and we’ll see about the price in the morning.”

Nodding his head near off, the auctioneer returns the relic to its box, still careful not to touch it. He chuckles a few ‘oh hoo hoos’ and rubs his sweaty paws together. “Of course, of course my good woman! Do be sure to ah, warn him about the demons inside!”

#14 Part

“Why did you leave her?”

Oliver returns to his body. Trails of incense climb to the ceiling in loops and arcs and he watches, transfixed, as the smoke merges into scented spirits, and dissipates. The woman - he’s forgotten her name - lured him into his tent with dice and fortunes, bone etchings and stones painted with symbols of the twelve. He hears her shake them in her hand, spill them, listens as they rattle and come to rest.

“Leave who?” The woman’s tail brushes against his leg. Her living quarters are small, cramped, better than his. Home now is a damp hammock on a darker ship. It is nothing like it was before. His limbs are tired and sore from a long voyage and it drains his thoughts. Oliver does not think he will move from here for a long time.

“The woman you’re thinking about,” she corrects, “you were thinking about.”

Oliver looks to her backside, all that is in view, obscuring the ministrations of her private ritual. Her form is liquid metal: copper hair running down her back, bronze skin naked beneath her trailing nightgown of silver silk. Candlelight glints off golden bangles, earrings, as she removes each piece carefully, sets them down on a cloth at her side.

Oliver thinks about her now. He will again, into the night. Why did he leave? Where is he going? The clamor of his crewmates beyond her heavy tent dies down. The women outside have all gone with them.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asks.

The woman kneels at a small mythrite altarpiece she keeps at the foot of her bedroll, an icon of Nymeia, and prays in a low hum, in a language he does not recognize. It draws out the tenor of her rich voice, coaxing, promising, and when she stands up and turns to him there is a little more grace in the movement of her hands, the turn of her hips.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says, “I’m ready now.” She tugs apart the silk ties of her gown and perches on top of him. He takes her breasts in his hands and closes his eyes.

#15 Ache

I still feel it around my neck.

It’s long gone, Frida says. The bite in her laughter soothes the memory; she distracts me with curious things, disorderly words, riddles to unravel. There’s no harm in lying about one’s home, she says, it makes no difference in the now. She laughs and laughs and only in the quiet do I see the spectre of her misery: a far-off look half-lit by campfire, calloused fingers smoothing over the strap of her belt. Frida is right to keep it hidden away. I cannot help but wonder. Could I hold it in my palms slick with oil and sear it into my flesh? I would smear the remains on her cheeks and see her laugh, see her tears wash it away and take my hands in hers.

#18 Panglossian

“Do you think there will be any offers? For my hand, that is.”

The blush that blooms across Marian’s cheeks sets my stomach to churn. It’s not that it should happen, but that she should look forward to it. Marriage. How trite. A dead man with little money to impart was all it afforded me, and it would be wrong of me to hope much better for Marian. The twelve saw fit to bless her with sweetness but no sense to accompany, and even less coin to offer up in compensation.

“Oh, enough from you! You’ll set yourself up for disappointment - a girl with your breeding shouldn’t expect one within the week, let alone from a man of sound mind and body, or age, or any kind of means.”

“Oh.” Marian’s shoulders droop. She quickens her pace and comes up alongside me. The dirt trail leading from our home is damp with rain, and her pale blue slippers and hem are already stained with mud. “Well, that’s alright. I won’t burden you for long, Fanny, there’s always honest work to be had in the city. I could try my hand at the botanist’s guild, you know how I love to be in the garden.”

My nose wrinkles. “What nonsense! You’re still young, plenty of time to ensnare some simple-minded man willing to take care of you.” I sneer. “Work.” What a distasteful thought! It’s bad enough to consider their family being so debased by such a thing, more so to imagine Marian being depended upon by anyone. “Do you want to end up an old maid?”

Marian sighs. Her arms swing back and forth as she walks. “No… I suppose not.”

The post box comes into sight. A cover of thick morning fog obscures it - from the neighbors too, by the looks of it. I slow my pace with less reason to worry.

“Good, I thought so. If you don’t wish to burden me you ought to work on your conversation, it was dreadful to listen to you the other evening, it really was. Oh I thought I’d faint for sure!”

“If you say so. But some of the boys were very poor at it too.”

“It’s not their job to charm you, Marian. Will you not think of your position?”

“I’m sorry, Fanny.”

The moss growing about the post box dampens the sounds of it opening. Once the mail is in my hand I retreat back home, lest the fog clear, and the neighbors see. There’s more than I expect alongside the familiar texture of bills, the yellow ribbon of Seedseer business.

“Here’s a letter for you, Marian.” I squint at the seal, all flowers and fancy lettering. “...From that Eglantine boy. He did arrive after all, didn’t he?” I’m more surprised that I ever agreed to invite him in the first place. What a journey it must have been for him, for a girl so… bereft.

Marian snatches the letter out of my hand and skips ahead. “Ooh I wonder what it says!” She giggles and tears it open. “We danced together you know!”

“How charitable.”

She gasps. “His penmanship is so beautiful!”

Hers might be beautiful as well, if she had the mind to work on it. “Don’t get too excited, it’s a thank-you note for the invitation. It’s what’s popular among those types these days. What a useless sentiment! Copied by one of his sixty servants, no doubt. Oh yes! How generous of you to invite me to some farm girls’ debut! How thrilling it was to mingle among the commonfolk for a few bells, thank-you, thank-you! I tell you--”

“He says he means to marry me!”

“Don’t interrupt! Oh, these fantasies of yours-- stop skipping ahead Marian, I wasn’t finished!”

#19 Where the Heart is

Fire strikes the night sky. A thousand sparks skitter through ink before flickering into the black empty of the sea. Every light reflects in its calm surface: a mirror to the other side. All the city is alive with noise. A river of people pass behind you, the both of you, on a bridge overlooking the bay. Its current sweeps up your company, done with deals for the eve, leaving you at the edge of the way out and on the cusp of a decision - to retire, to remain.

It takes less convincing to get him in the local garb than it did when you first arrived. What was good for business now served utilitarian, starched cloth propping up weak shoulders, hiding sickly-thin limbs. With judging eyes now gone he loosens its grip around his neck and you can see the rounded peaks of his vertebrae. His grip braces white against red railing and you step a little closer.

A cold wind blows from the sea and you, the both of you, watch a parade of lanterns float through the canals and spill into the deep, a slow march at a pace neither of you can match. The fireworks’ finale phases him not, gaze glued to the horizon where hot embers stain the sea. A mirage of wine red hair swimming beneath, white hands adorned with jewels ebbing on the waves, beckoning you home.

#20 Extra Credit

I watch them from a distance. The boy (the rat-faced weasel, the base miscreant) asked to be alone with her and I denied him, as is proper. He was annoyed, that much was certain, but I do not intrude, as is polite, and he really couldn’t ask for much better, could he? He already has enough, and there’s a sharp glint in his eye that I do not like, not at all. Who knows what he might do to poor, sweet Marian, behind closed doors, with no supervision? The girl is so stupid.

Marian sneaks glances at me. I really wish she wouldn’t. The boy distracts her with a present from his pocket, a small box, and opens it for her, showing her what’s inside. It must be very nice because she slaps her hands to her mouth like some common idiot and makes noises that are distinctly not-speech. The words come after, all ‘ooh’s’ and ‘oh my’s’ and ‘thank you,’ there it is, finally. How embarrassing. The boy looks uncomfortable and I’m sure he’s thinking as I do, but I won’t let him walk back his mistake if he's smart enough to see he's made one, and dull enough to say so.

Marian reaches for whatever it is, I have to squint to see it, a necklace by the way she holds it. I can see the pendant but not the chain, which is either very fine or my eyes have gone worse. Perhaps both. The boy offers to put it on for her - does he even know how? - and she turns, all aflutter, hands at her chest, tears in her eyes.

“Please don’t cry,” says the boy, and he sounds like he means it. Marian spares us both.

#29 Paternal

The weight should be crushing him by now. Even twenty ponz more would be a burden on his frail frame. He’s much too weak. Kent could sprint to the mouth of O’ghomoro and back and yet have the strength to snap that bony back over his knee.

He doesn’t want to move. His body does, and his mind knows it’s best, but his eyes-- Pleading with me as I approach. Can I move something without disturbing it? He always asks the impossible.

“I’m in a fine mess.”

I stop in the doorway. “I can see. Anything gone numb?”

“Not yet,” he lies.

Both feet, his left hand, travelling up to his elbow. She’s positioned in an odd way. He must have shifted her while she slept, only to delay the inevitable. A wet spot blooms on his shirt. There’s a wince in his eye as he turns his neck. I commit it to memory.

“Shall I move her?”

His hand at her head, the shift of his legs. “Not yet.”