#the weird enclosed playing area

[be-queer-do-arson]

It's crazy how even though exy is almost a direct rip off of lacrosse, lacrosse isn't the closest real world sports equivalent. It's hockey

[naamahdarling]

favorite zoo exhibit?

Our city zoo has a whole building that's basically an open rainforest with paths, and enclosed exhibits around the perimeter, but mostly just open for animals to move around in, and it's super super cool! There's little dart frogs! Birds! Lizards! Weird guinea pigs on stilts! Sloths! And two old lady Jaguar besties. (These two don't roam free. Sadly.) It's wonderful!!!

This is how close you can get to the old ladies! That ledge is where the glass is. I was less than two feet from her. All animals at our zoo have areas where they can chill out away from people, but the ladies are usually visible and often right up on the glass. I love them SO, SO dearly!

I have a special love of Chel, one of the jags, who I have watched grow up from a cub.

When she was grown but still very young, I had the opportunity to visit before opening hours and caught her exploring the outside area of her enclosure, and she and I had a really cool interaction where she was in The Sillyzone (TM) and trotting back and forth playfully, and when she saw me she ran over and initiated play.

I ran back and forth with her and she got VERY EXCITED and bounded around. The exact same body language as a young domestic cat playing ambush games with another cat. At that time I probably weighed about the same as her, and was close to the same body length. It was a really, really special moment. She wasn't treating me like possible prey, but like another jaguar.

Then she stuck her entire front leg out between the vertical heavy steel cables of the enclosure, which just BENT like they were made of rubber, and she playfully batted around. There was a barrier and plenty of space, and her paw was soft, no claws, and she was raised by and loves humans, and it was still a little sobering.

The keeper came out and said "Yeah, we're adding a heavy mesh to that next week." And they did.

I've felt very close to her ever since, and that was a very long time ago.

Here is her very Lisa Frank 19th birthday party:

[marmie-noir]

Girl's Night Out

This black shirt has haunted my brain and I knew I had to have Mitch in it for one of these. TW: It's filthy. It's smut. Drinking, fingering, a milli-second of female receiving oral, Mitch Keller is bad for my health. This is not beta read, please forgive any errors and enjoy!

I blinked and Ann narrowed her eyes at me. “Girl if you blink one more time while I’m doing your liner I’m going to pin you down so I can work.” “Sorry.” I murmured, afraid to move, eyes glancing up toward the ceiling of her apartment. Ann, bless her, had declared I spent all my time with Mitch, Pops, and now Scruff. I was surrounded by men, and I needed a girls night. While I wasn’t sure if I needed one it sounded like fun and I didn’t hate the idea of being able to dress up a bit and go out with one of the only friends I had in the area. 

Mitch had smiled at me that morning over a cup of coffee, patting my ass on my way out and told me to “have fun and be a good girl.” I had gone shopping, all my tips had piled up even after forcing Mitch to let me pay half of Scruff’s medical bills, and I had been wearing the same few outfits from my suitcase so I bought a few new things. 

There was an odd moment in the store, looking at two sundresses that were super pretty, contemplating which one to get when Ann told me both. I nearly told her I didn’t want to get both, to save room in my suitcase, but stopped myself. I wasn’t living out of my suitcase anymore, I had a home. A room, a dresser, a toothbrush in a cup on the counter. So I bought both. 

I had one on now. It was short, the fabric soft against my thighs when I moved, the skirts a little loose to give it movement, the top tight in a way that complimented my figure, the straps thin over my shoulders. Or, to quote Ann, “show off your tits, girl!” God, she was something else. But the dress made me feel pretty, and really that is what mattered. And it had pockets. 

Finally the redhead stepped back, declaring I was fit to go out. I blinked a few times, my eyes feeling weird with the makeup and lashes before glancing at the mirror. My mouth fell open, surprised at who looked back at me. I looked good, like really good. Thick lashes, light eye makeup, a little blush and a pouty lip color made me look great. Paired with the way she had curled my long hair, not allowing me unusual updo, I looked like a new woman. 

“If Mitch could see you now you wouldn’t be going out, Sunshine.” She teased, winking at me and making me laugh. Before long we were leaving in the Uber she summoned, the two of us heading downtown Tulsa. 

The next few hours were a whirlwind and I think I paid for maybe one of my own drinks, hopeful cowboys buying us round after round. I was tipsy, laughing loudly as we fell into the new Uber, Ann pulling along one of the cuter men who had been trying to get her attention all night. Not that I could blame the man for trying, she looked stunning in her little dress and big hair, all bright smiles and flirty little looks. 

Not paying attention to where we were going I played on my phone, reading the last few texts from Mitch checking in. It wasn’t often, wasn’t oppressive, but he wanted to make sure we were safe and that I was having fun. 

‘I’ll come get you wherever you are if you ever wanna leave, darlin’. You just text me where and I’ll be there.’ 

It made me smile, fingers brushing over the contact photo I had assigned his contact, one of him glancing down at his guitar while playing on the couch one day. All relaxed, hat missing, blue eyes focused. Far too handsome for words, damn him. 

“Girl stop drooling over your phone, we are here!” Ann said, voice a little too loud for the enclosed space of the car as she shooed the man she’d brought along out, making me look up. The neon sign for Bred-2-Buck was bright and familiar and made me grin as I opened the door and stepped out. 

Ann beat me to it, practically kicking the door open. She was further gone than I was, that much was obvious, and I watched her throw her arms out nearly slapping her date. “Mitch Keller, I brought your girlfriend home!” She all but shouted, the patrons at the bar turning to look at the loud redhead who just made the most dramatic entrance. 

I let out a little laugh, blushing as I gently steered her towards the bar so she could sit and I could convince her to drink a little water. 

“Did you now?” Mitch called back, clearly not upset, the sound of humor obvious in his tone. “And where is said girlfriend?” Ann dramatically sighed, turning and grabbing at my shoulders before turning me to face the bar where I had been trying to coerce her to go and take a seat. I blinked, now facing Mitch, and his smile fell as his eyes met mine. I watched as those blue eyes darkened, slowly slipping further down my body taking in my outfit and my appearance, going all the way to my shoes before slowly sliding back up to meet mine. My lips parted slightly and I felt a blush spread up my chest to my cheeks, feeling a little put on the spot. 

“I did good, huh?” Ann asked, laughing and slapping my ass hard, making me jump and turn to grab her wrist with a frown, my cheeks burning hot. Mitch laughed, the few regulars who knew us as well rumbling with amusement before returning to their drinks. 

I convinced Ann onto a stool finally, reaching for a glass to pour her some water when Mitch’s hand gently grabbed at my wrist, leaning on the counter with a raised brow. “Can I get you somethin’, darlin’?” He asked, voice having an edge of a rumble to it that did horrible things to my lower stomach, warm arousal pooling slowly as he looked down at me. His hand was warm wrapped around my wrist, his thumb brushing on the inside of it, feeling my pulse jump as I looked up into his blue eyes. I cleared my throat, feeling a little flustered with his direct attention. “I just wanted to get Ann some water, Mitch.” I said quietly, eyes dropping to his lips a moment, unable to help myself. 

He smiled, his mustache lifting slightly as he did so, giving my wrist a little squeeze before releasing me. “Meet me in my office in five minutes.” He said quietly, leaning in as he did so, the warmth of him gone in a flash as he pulled back to toss Ann a grin and a glass of water. 

I kept an eye on the clock above the bar, talking to Ann who was leaning all over the man she had picked for the night. I found his name was Marcus, he worked in finance, and he really really liked Ann. Thankfully before they started sucking face the five minutes was up and I slipped away, disappearing down the hallway towards Mitch’s office. 

I opened the door and stepped in, letting out a little sigh as I did so. I liked the dress, but the shoes were uncomfortable and I missed my shorts. I was ready to be home, wanting nothing more than to wash my face and curl up on the couch as Scruff snored loudly on Pop’s lap as he gave me the rundown of the evening news. Warm hands slid around my hips and I jumped, hearing the rumble of Mitch’s chuckle behind me. I relaxed immediately, leaning back against him. One of his hands rested on my upper thigh but the other slid up the front of my body, large hand loosely wrapping around the front of my neck. His thumb pressed under my jaw, tilting my head as I felt my eyes flutter closed. “Look at you, darlin’.” He murmured, voice having an edge of gravel to it. It was a tone I was getting familiar with, it was the tone Mitch used when he wanted to do something delicious to my body. “How many drinks you pay for tonight?” 

I smiled, lips parting as his brushed against my neck, trailing up to my earlobe. It took me a moment to remember words. “Just one.” “I bet. Looking like this. Bet you had all the men stumblin over themselves, trying to get the pretty lady to even look at them.” I let out a breathy laugh, the noise pulling into a gasp as he nipped at my earlobe. “You drunk, Sunny?” “Tipsy.” I said, feeling breathless. The feel of his warm breath and the brush of his facial hair against my neck had a shiver racing down my spine, leaning back against him. He hummed in response, the sound vibrating from his chest to my back. His hand on my thigh slowly pulled my skirt up, warm fingertips brushing against my thigh, higher and higher. I shifted my weight, one of my hands lifting to grab the wrist of the hand around my throat still, the other reaching back to rest on his hip. “Mitch.” I breathed out, mind feeling a little hazy from the drinks and the sheer effect Mitch had on me. He was warm and solid and I couldn’t help but press back against him, hearing him suck in a breath against my skin. 

“How the hell are you so sweet?” He murmured, his hand on my thigh dipping between my legs, sliding into my panties without hesitation. Feeling how wet I was already he groaned, the sound making me squeeze my thighs around his hand with a whimper of my own. “I know, I’ll take care of you darlin’. Don’t worry.” His fingers were sin and he found my clit without any fumbling, something I had never experienced with another man before. Hell, most of what I felt with Mitch I’d never experienced with a man before. He had every wall crumbling, filling my head with nothing but him and the way his thick fingers stretched me just right, hooking and finding that spot inside of me that had me gasping. 

He brought his hand up, showing how wet his middle finger was, my arousal gleaming in the low light of his office. “Let me get these rings off,-” “Leave them on.” I panted, arching back against him, looking for the friction I had just lost. “I wanna feel them.”

Mitch tightened his hold on my neck, not enough to choke me but more of a reassurance that he had me. “Fucking hell, Sunny.” He groaned, his hand sinking back down to tuck under my skirt and into my panties. “I’ve got you, let me make you feel good.” He said, voice low and with that near growled tone that gave away how much he got out of this as well.

One of his booted feet gently tapped the inside of one of my feet, telling me to spread my legs a bit more. I listened, trusting him. I was rewarded by the feeling of his middle finger joining his pointer inside of me, deliciously thick fingers stretching me, the wet sound of him finger fucking me filling the space that our panting breaths didn’t. 

“You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.” He grit out, his hips pressing forward and for the first time I felt Mitch’s erection grinding against my ass. It had me moaning and his fingers tightened slightly on my throat, chuckling against my shoulder. “Shhh, baby. Don’t want everyone in the bar hearing how good I make you feel, do you?” I clenched around him, head tipping back to rest on his shoulder, my hand on his wrist tightening. “Or maybe you do, I felt that.” He curled his fingers inside of me, hitting that perfect spot that had me gasping, eyes unfocused and hazy as I stared at the old ceiling of his office. “Want everyone to know what a good girl you are for me? How good you take my fingers? How fucking sweet you are on my tongue?” “Fuckin- Mitch.” I whimpered, grinding my ass back against him. In response he ground the palm of his hand against my clit as his fingers moved faster. The combination had me seeing stars and I clung to him, thighs shaking as I gasped for breath. Nothing else mattered right now except the feeling of Mitch pressed up against me, his fingers hitting deeper than my own ever could, desperate noises pulling from my throat. “C’mon baby, give it to me. Let go. I’ve got you.” His hand around my neck gave one last gentle squeeze before dropping to circle around my middle. He made sure I was pulled back firmly against me but also half held me up, my thighs not trustworthy as he moved his fingers in a way that had to be sin with how good it was. His lips fell onto my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder, leaving marks I was sure. I didn’t care, he could bite me right now and I doubt I’d feel it over the pressure between my legs. I squirmed, my hands settling on his arm wrapped around my middle, nails biting at his tanned skin. “Fuck, please. I’m- I need-” “I know, baby.” Mitch answered, moving his fingers a little faster, palm grinding against my clit with a little more pressure. I came apart after that, I had no chance, my own hand covering my mouth as I cried out. I looked down the line of my body, watching his fingers moving under my skirt, the absolute filthy image of his hand in my panties was one that would be seared into my brain for the rest of my life. 

“Fuck yes, good girl Sunny. Good fucking girl.” Mitch’s deep voice vibrated against my back, his own hips grinding against my ass as if he couldn’t help himself. 

I didn’t get much of a chance to come down though, one moment I was standing with my back against his chest and the next he was depositing me on the edge of his desk. I looked up at him to catch him sucking his fingers into his mouth, blue eyes dark with lust as he looked down at me. 

“God you are fucking unfair.” I whispered, feeling overheated and cozy all at once. He chuckled, clearly having heard me, and I moved my arms down to his mouth to watch him pull his fingers out now that they were clean. Then I trailed down further, across the broad expanse of his chest in that shirt- I’d have to remember to wash that one more often because he looked far too good in it- before landing at the shiny belt buckle he always wore from his bull riding days. Right below that the denim was tented, enough that I could tell Mitch Keller was certainly not lacking but not enough for me to tell how gifted he was. I reached out to grab at his belt, working to undo it. He reacted by reaching to grab the back of my head, fingers weaving into my hair and tipping my face up so he could kiss me like he was trying to devour me. It made my fingers clumsy, and combined with my orgasm it took a few tries to get the belt undone. Finally the familiar sound of the buckle jingling sounded and I could have cheered if my lower lip wasn’t trapped between his teeth. Mitch pulled back, releasing my lip with a cocky smirk, his hand leaving my hair to rest against my collarbone. Slowly, gently, he pushed me back. I clearly looked confused because he grinned. “Trust me, darlin’.” “Fairly sure I do if the last fifteen minutes has anything to say about it.” I replied back, firecracker quick still. It earned me another grin and a shake of his head, amused. I reached up and plucked the hat from his head before my back met the cool wood of his desk, flashing him a grin as I dropped it on the chair next to the desk. Not exactly my dream spot to finally fuck the man who had haunted my every thought for awhile now but I would take it. Mitch reached under my dress and hooked his fingers in my panties, pulling them down my thighs before they were gone. I doubt I’d see those again, I hadn’t seen the ones from the night on the porch either. If the price of a killer orgasm was a pair of panties I suppose I’d survive. His hands smoothed back up my legs, hooking behind my knees and pushing my legs up, opening me up under him. “How are you so fucking pretty Sunny?” He groaned, seeing how wet I was. I blushed once more, hips shifting, feeling exposed and a little shy. Mitch’s pretty blue eyes flicked up and he shot me that grin that melted my insides, making me relax once more. As if he couldn’t help himself he leaned down, pressing a kiss to my clit before he was moving closer, pushing my dress up to my stomach. I gasped and then let out a little laugh, surprised. “Mitch!” “Couldn’t help myself.” He responded, not sounding a bit sorry. There was some shifting and to my confusion he lifted my legs up, pressing them together and hooking my ankles over one of his shoulders. I looked at him, confused. This angle would make sex kind of hard, wouldn’t it? “M’not gonna fuck you tonight, darlin’.” He said, one of his hands moving to his waist where he pushed his pants and boxers down, pulling out his hard cock. My mouth went dry seeing him for the first time, lips parting as all the words left my head for a few moments. Of fucking course he would have a pretty cock, thick but not in a scary way, long enough I knew he’d fill me so well my eyes would roll back.

I watched a bead of precum bead at the flushed head before it rolled down the length of him until he stroked himself, another chuckle leaving him. “Stop looking at me like that, m’not gonna change my mind.” 

I blinked, eyes jumping up to his face. “Why not?” I sounded whiny but I didn’t care, wanting more than anything to have Mitch sink into me until I could feel his hips pressing to my ass, needing him more than anyone else I’d ever met. Mitch Keller was a drug and I was an addict, living off his kisses and touches, always wanting more.   “Not like this, Sunny. Not while you’ve been drinkin’ all night. Not in this office.” Mitch’s face never lost that warmth of need but he did get more serious, lining himself up. Then his hips slowly pressed forward. Instead of sinking into me like I desperately wanted him to, I felt him press where my thighs were clenched together, slick with my arousal and previous orgasm. The hard length of him slid against my slit, but the best part was the blunt head of his cock gliding across my clit before he pulled back and did it again. 

“Oh.” I gasped, back arching slightly off the desk at how good it felt, the friction hitting just right. 

“Didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you? Can’t leave my pretty girl all needy for me. Fuck, so god damn soft.” His voice was so good, deep and grumbly, making my eyes flutter closed for a moment. One of Mitch’s arms were wrapped around my legs, making sure they were pressed together so he could fuck my thighs, but the other reached up to palm at my breast through my dress. 

Before long we were both panting, looking at one another as his hips clapped against my ass. He felt so good, everything he did felt good though, and I was whimpering and gasping under him on the desk. One of my hands wrapped around the edge of the desk while the other was gripping onto his shirt, needing an anchor as he continued to thrust against me. 

My second orgasm wasn’t far, especially with the way he kept rubbing at my clit, the image of him doing all sorts of things to me. Mitch was so handsome it hurt. His eyes were darker than I’d seen, his hair loose across his forehead, lips parted as he panted. I whined his name, my hand releasing his shirt and reaching for him. His hand left my breast to grab onto mine, lacing our fingers and reaching up to grab the edge of the desk, pinning me down. “M’close darlin’.” He said, leaning over me. The move had my knees nearly pressing to my chest but I didn’t care, focused on the slick feeling of him rutting against me, the two of us looking at each other. “Where…?” “On me.” I gasped, my free hand releasing the desk and pulling my dress further up so it sat below my breasts. That seemed to do something to him, the sound that left him a mix between a groan and a growl, his brows pulling together. His hips moved faster, my thighs pressing tighter around him as he continued to move. 

 “Fuck- Mitch.” His hand squeezed mine and I tipped over the edge again. I moaned, back arching off the hard desk. It was like someone had set a firework off in my lower stomach, the fizzy feeling racing through my limbs and making my toes curl, his name leaving me like a prayer. 

At the same time Mitch groaned, making the prettiest noise I’d ever heard as I felt something warm land on my stomach. I felt his cock pulse between my thighs with each rope of cum that landed on my stomach, making me shiver under him, panting as he came hard.

We stayed like that for a few moments, looking at one another breathless and flushed with arousal. I couldn’t believe we’d just done that, but the cooling sensation on my skin was proof if nothing else.

Mitch was the one who broke the silence, giving me that crooked smile that made my heart ache. “Let’s get you cleaned up Sunny, and then I am taking you home.” He didn’t let me go right away though, his arm loosening around my legs and instead letting them hang off to the side as he leaned down to kiss me sweetly. I sighed happily as he pulled away, feeling sleepy and warm, knowing I was absolutely going to cuddle up next to him tonight in his bed.

Read more Sunny and Mitch here

[ateriblewriter]

Additions (q.h)

Family is Everything

Series Masterlist

Requests

Enjoy!

“Hey Hattie.” Quinn smiled crouching down to try and be the same height as his child, who had been playing quietly by herself. They had some exciting news to tell the toddler. And honestly he couldn’t wait to tell her. “I have a question for you.”

“What daddy?” The little girl continued to be consumed with the stuffed animals that she had been playing with.

“Trix, can you please look at me. This is important.” The father tried to get more of his child’s focus on him. By this time Y/N had made her way over to the couch, a hand over the bump. “How would you feel about becoming a big sister and getting a baby brother?”

“No.” Hattie thought about it for a minute before voicing her decision, making a face at her father. She didn’t really like the idea of sharing her mommy and daddy and she definitely didn’t want a little brother.

“Sorry Trix, there isn’t really a choice. It’s already been decided.” Y/N smiled gently at the little girl. Even though Hattie didn’t want a sibling now, down the line she would love this baby. “It’ll be fun, you’ll have someone to play with.”

Hattie had to think about it again for a bit. She looked back and forth between her mommy and daddy. Maybe a sibling wouldn’t be so bad. She thought maybe it would be fun to have someone to share her toys with. “Does it have to be a boy? Why can’t it be a girl?”

There was a collective laugh between the two parents as Quinn tried to explain in a kid friendly way that he couldn’t choose what the baby was going to be.

“Would you like to feel your brother?” Y/N felt the baby start to move about. A rather large smile graced Hattie’s face as she eagerly reached out for her mother’s protruding belly. Placing her hand where Y/N had told her to, she felt something move across her palm.

“Woah. That’s weird. I love you baby.” The little girl giggled as the baby continued to move about in his enclosed area as Y/N and Quinn shared a look of pure joy with each other.

Please let me know what y’all think. Also if you have any thoughts, comments, or complaints. I’d like to know ‘em!

[bluegekk0]

the way you color stuff is AMAZING!!! I MEAN IT! mind explaining how you make colors look so good?? its ok if you dont want to :)

Hi, thank you so much!!! <3

Generally, I try to go for softer, more pastel like palettes, and that helps make the drawings seem more "consistent" and pleasing to the eye.

First tip: if you use Clip Studio Paint, definitely get this tool. It saves so much time on filling out lineart, and it's crazy accurate. If you're having trouble figuring out how it works, here's how I do it: I put the lineart layer in a group, add another layer below it (still in that group), and then use the tool on that new layer. Make sure the tool is set to refer to layers in a group though. Then I erase some areas that were "enclosed" by the lineart.

As for the actual coloring process. First of all, I use the mechanical pencil brush from Clip Studio Paint, the same one I use for the lineart, except this one has random color jitter per stroke. It adds slight variety to the base colors, which helps making them look less flat.

Here are the settings I use, but I recommend playing around with them if you want less subtle results.

For a comparison, here is one of my drawings with regular flat colors vs one colored with the brush I mentioned:

A pretty important part of the process isn't actually related to the coloring itself, but the layer effects I add to the finished drawing, as well as the paper texture (which you can see in the background; I add it twice, to the background and on top of all the layers).

Here are the layers I usually go with, I'll explain each of them below.

I'll start from the bottom. The paper texture is almost white with some very subtle warm tones, and it's set to linear burn, which works the best for this kind of texture. Like I mentioned, I use this overlay twice, but both use the same layer mode.

Next is the brown-ish linear light mode layer. This is to give the drawing more subtle contrast while also tinting it with a sepia-like tone. You can use any color for this, but I find this light brown color to work the best for my artstyle, since it makes the drawing look softer and gives it the old photograph kind of look which I tend to go for.

The multiply layer is mostly transparent aside from the edges. This is for the vignette effect, not much aside from that. It's definitely a personal preference thing.

Lastly, there is the pin light layer. This one is a bit weird, but I really like the effect. It's hard to explain it, but I use it to tint the dark tones of the drawing with a slight blue color. You'll see what I mean in the examples below. Occasionally, I'll add another layer with a darker base color, since pin light kind of works in reverse: if you use a light color, it will target the dark shades on your drawing, but if you use a dark color, it will instead only go for the light shades. Note that it's pretty strong in this drawing in particular, I usually make it a bit more subtle. If you look at my recent drawings you'll see it.

Here is the same drawing, with each of the layers applied in the order I listed (left to right order):

I'd also like to mention the lineart, which actually plays a big role in making my drawings look softer. I color the lines on the "inside" with a darker shade of the base color, though I often make it more saturated to really bring them out.

For example, here are the colors I use for FPK's lines. Not including his eye colors or the tips of his fingers/feet, since I don't color the lineart there. And a comparison of what he looks like with and without those lines colors, just to show how big of a difference it makes.

And to go back to the previous drawing, here is a similar comparison.

One thing to note is the additional white lines on the darker areas of Grimm's arms, the lines blend with the base color so I like to make them slightly lighter to help them pop out.

And lastly, I'll mention the light outlines you probably noticed by now. I add them as the final touch, they're the same color as the background though I sometimes lower the opacity if I feel like they're too much. They're meant to help with colors that blend together too much, and to highlight the silhouettes of the characters, as well as adding more dimension to the drawing. I think you'll see what I mean when I hide them in this final comparison:

Hope this is helpful! Sorry if you didn't expect that long of a post, I wanted to go through each step in my process so that I can explain it the best I can haha

[bullet-prooflove]

Wherever You Go: Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life, @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @vannabanana1995 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @sxmmarie @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @genius2050 @buddinglinguist @mortal--soul 

It’s entirely by chance that Riz spots the fiddle in one of the pawn shops him and Creeper are investigating. It’s on the outskirts of Santo Padre, near EZ’s girl’s bar and the perfect place for someone to fence some stolen merch. The entire MC is running around the county, chasing down leads in an attempt to find out who broke into Hank’s mother’s house and stole her jewellery. It’s not worth much Hank tells them, but there’s a sentimentality attached to some of the pieces.

It killed Riz to see how shaken Mrs Loza looked in the aftermath of the burglary, seated at her kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug that proclaims she’s the world’s best mom. Hank’s hands enclosed over hers, Taza speaking to her in reassuring tones. Gilly had already boarded up the window where the intruder broke in, Bishop had been on the phone snarling at the glass company, demanding they fix it ASAP. Coco was in the lounge with Angel trying to straighten up the place because the asshole that did it had left a fucking mess. Riz could hear EZ outside sweeping up the glass that had fallen onto the garden path.

Each of them had a fondness for Mrs Loza. When one of them is sick or injured, she’s the one cooking up a storm to make sure they’re eating good, home cooked food to bolster their recovery. If there’s someone in need, she’s activating her phone tree to get them the resources that they require. She’s active in the local area, a trustee at the community centre where she was playing bingo the night the burglary happened. Riz is thankful for that because it could have gone a lot worse if she had been home.

The best he can do is try to track down the asshole who did it and get back what he can. Him and Creeper have a few connections in the area, between the two of them he reckons they can scare the shit out of the fences that aren’t as forthcoming as others.

Hedgewick’s place is a bust but he comes out with the fiddle case clasped in his hand as Creeper waits in the van, his sunglasses on and his fingertips tapping out the rhythm of the music he’s listening to on the side panel.

You’ve been taking fiddle lessons for a while now, longer than Riz has known you. It was only a couple of nights ago, the two of you were in his living room, him strumming away on his guitar while you studied a piece of music. He remembers how weird it looked at first to see you close your eyes and mimic the melody on an invisible instrument. He gets it though when you explain it. You can visualise the sounds, the plucking of the strings, the softness of the wood. You have an affinity for it, the teacher has told you. A natural gift and to you it feels like spending time with an old friend. You pour a piece of your soul into the music and hear it sing. He’d almost be jealous of that connectivity if you didn’t play so beautifully.

When he sees the fiddle in Hedgewick’s he can’t resist. You're barely making ends meet as it is, between your hours at the record shop, the lessons you teach in guitar and piano and then the gigs you do in the evenings you just about break even. Happiness doesn’t come from money you tell him, when you’re discussing it one night, it comes from feeding the soul. That’s what he thinks about when he buys the instrument.

“You adding a new string to your bow, pretty boy?” Creeper teases when Riz gets in the van and sets the fiddle case down in the footwell.

“Nah, it’s for my girl.” Riz tells him as he busies himself with the seatbelt.

There’s a moment of silence between them because this is the first time that Riz has mentioned he has a girl, although Creeper’s suspected for a while. He’s noticed the changes in behaviour, he’s not at the clubhouse as much and when he is, he’s more interested in playing pool or cards than the scantily clad women who try to make themselves available to him. Riz has always been a ladies man, they flock to him. Creeper has always thought it was something to do with the hair but lately he doesn’t recall seeing a girl on his knee, even at Vicki’s.

“Must be something special if you’re giving up all the extra pussy.” Creeper says as he removes the handbrake. “You in love or something?”

Riz puts his elbow on the window ledge of the passenger side, his hand coming to rest near his mouth as he stares out of the windshield ahead of them.

“Yea.” He tells Creeper. “It was love at first sight.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s later than you intended when you get to Riz’s that night. One of the kids you tutor needed some extra help for a recital they had coming up, so you had extended the session in help them build some confidence in the song they were undertaking. It’s a beautiful, complex piece with some intricate finger work but you have no doubt in your mind that Jana is up to the task.

You’re working on your plan for the next lesson with her at Riz’s kitchen table, when he disappears into the bedroom and returns with the fiddle. He sets the gift down on the table in front of you. The case is a little battered, well loved is how you think of it. You run your hands over the top as your thumbs stray to the latches.

“Can I?” You ask him, tilting your head up towards him.

“It’s yours.” He tells you and you feel the air rush out of the room as a well of emotion builds in your chest. You don’t speak when you flick open the clasps to take a look at the instrument. The truth is you can’t. You’re overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, nobody has ever gifted you with something so precious. Your fingertips trace over the curve of the wood, it’s rose wood, a shiny darkwood that gleams in the warm glow from the light above. Your breath catches in your chest because the instrument is stunning and already you feel that thrum of connection.

“Is it ok?” he asks you.

You can hear the anxiety in his voice, the unsureity and it makes you fall in love with him even more.

“It’s wonderful.” You tell him before snatching your fingers away and meeting his gaze. “Riz, it’s too much…”

He shakes his head.

“Riz…”

He crouches down alongside of your chair, his knees hitting the floor as he takes your hand in his and looks into your eyes. There’s an earnestness in them as he leans in close. The scent of bergamot and leather clings to his skin as he brings your palm up to rest upon the space where his heart resides. You can feel it beating underneath your fingertips.

“It’s a gift.” He tells you. “An investment in you and your music. I believe in you Songbird, and I believe you are going to make some beautiful music with this.”

“How can I ever repay you?” You ask him as your fingertips chase along the line of his jaw, smoothing over the stubble of his cheek.

“Play me a song.” He requests. “That’s all I ask.”

“That’s hardly a fair exchange.” You try to reason.

“Trust me it is.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours chastely.

He’s heard you play before, through the open window of your teacher’s house while he’s waited for you outside. It’s been a while since he’s picked you up from there. He knows you prefer bluegrass to classics.

When he sits at that kitchen table, a cigarette between his fingers as he watches you tune the fiddle by ear, he thinks this is perfect. He’s never allowed himself to envision a future, not with any of the women that have crossed his path but with you it’s the only thing he thinks about. He watches as you stand in his house, in a blue sundress with pretty white flowers stitched into it and no shoes on. You close your eyes when you play, he knows your picturing the notes, seeing them in a transition of colours, your hips begin to sway just a little as you pick up the tune and you part your lips to sing.

'Cause you taught me a lesson the hard way one time

Told me you loved me, but then changed your mind

I never told no one how I hurt down inside until now

He recognises the song, it’s Alison Krauss, Sleep On, he thinks.

It’s heart wrenching, it steals away his breath and twists him up deep inside. It makes him so fucking emotional, his eyes start to sting. There’s a beauty in the agony, he knows you feel it too, it’s in your expression, in the movement of your body. Some musicians, they channel the entity of a song, they capture it’s soul and bring it to life. They feel the whole fucking thing, he thinks that’s what you do when you have a fiddle in your hands, when you chase a melody, when you sing a song. It’s a form of magic he thinks, to be able to reach out and touch your audience with the sound of your voice.

You’re destined to go places, he realises as he sits and listens to you play, and he hopes that wherever you go you’ll take him along for the ride.

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sesamestreep]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 7

Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox (from this list) ➸ slight future fic in the west wing AU, set probably six months after part 4 which does not exist yet (🫠) so maybe consider it a preview of what’s to come eventually in the series?? corresponds to the beginning of season 3 of the west wing when everybody’s in Manchester for the campaign and based (loosely) on that scene where Toby sucks at pool. ♡ dedicated to my pal @aivley-reblogs who had the chance to influence me to make this fic less weird and horny and chose violence instead ♡

It's only after Foggy has managed to send Karen and most of the remaining staffers that were still holed up in the bar either working or blowing off steam back to their hotel rooms for the night that Matt finally reappears.

“Did I miss the end of the party?” Matt asks.

“We’re calling it a night,” Foggy replies, as he’s futzing with his wallet. He's waiting on the drink he just ordered with plans to close his tab after that. “The team’s picking back up with the speech in the morning. Hopefully, some rest will help.”

“I don’t know if one good night of sleep is enough to make everyone see eye to eye there.”

“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and I think we’re all entitled to some delusion.”

Matt smiles at that, and says, “You’re heading out, then?”

Foggy leans back against the bar. “After this drink, yes.”

“I’d have another too, if you’re offering.”

“Yeah, alright,” Foggy says, at the exact same moment the bartender reappears with his drink. “Can I be a bother and add one more thing to my tab?”

The bartender gives Foggy the impression of someone who’s probably a school teacher by day and does this for extra cash because the educational system in this country is fundamentally broken. That’s a long way of saying she’s a different breed from the sleek, lithe employees of the downtown DC bars he usually frequents, most of whom could and likely do double as escorts to senators and ambassadors now and again. She’s also probably old enough to be his mother, which makes it charming and not weird when she nods curtly and turns to Matt with a, “Jameson, right, honey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt replies, with the sort of humble acquiescence of someone used to terms of endearment from the older ladies at church. Once she’s gone, Matt pokes Foggy’s wrist and says, “You play pool?”

“Not as well as Karen, but…”

Matt smiles, too brightly for the hour and for their current circumstances. “I see news of my humbling defeat has already reached you."

"As if there's a force on this earth that could actually humble you in any real way."

"True enough," Matt replies, his smile only growing. "It's clear to me now that I should have done my homework before challenging her, at least.”

"I hope you didn't put any money on it," Foggy says, casually.

"Nothing I couldn't afford to lose," Matt says, with a shrug. It's hard to tell in the subdued lighting of the bar, but he might also be blushing faintly. "If you're worried, I'll be generous with you. You can lose for free."

"Golly, thanks," Foggy says, drily, making Matt laugh.

"Sounds like a yes to me," he says, before nodding to the raised area in the back of the room where the pool table resides. “I’ll get it set up. Meet me there when you’re all set.”

“Sorry, am I buying and delivering your drinks now, Murdock?”

“Seems like it, yeah,” Matt replies, with a grin that threatens to overtake his face as he effortlessly walks back from the bar without turning away.

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” Foggy shouts after him.

“The pleasure of my company,” Matt fires back, and then disappears again.

Foggy can’t deny that that’s enough of a draw for him, but he doesn’t have to be stupid and admit it out loud. Instead, he gets Matt’s drink without further complaint, as well as his own, closes his tab, and heads over to the slightly enclosed area at the back of the bar where there’s a pool table with Matt Murdock leaning against it. He hands the drink off to him, and clinks their glasses together before Matt can pull his away.

“Cheers,” he says, for no real reason, and watches Matt’s throat move on a swallow just a little too closely. He feels fine and normal otherwise.

“You know how to play?” Matt asks, inclining his head towards the table as he stands and makes his way to the rack of pool cues.

There’s something loose and warm in the way he moves around the rounded corners of the table, like this is his neighborhood bar and he knows it by heart. Foggy attributes it to the few drinks he’s had over the course of the night and a certain natural grace that Matt seems to possess, but having an explanation for it doesn’t dampen the effect of it at all. Just like he was fascinated by Matt’s throat a moment ago, Foggy now feels like he can’t take his eyes off Matt’s hips, which is a real problem.

“I’m a man of a certain age, Matthew,” Foggy gripes, in the hopes of distracting from his obvious enamored state with sheer bad manners. “Of course I know how to play pool!”

"Good, then I won't go easy on you," Matt says.

"I have a feeling that was never an option," Foggy retorts. "What's a guy like you get out of pool, anyway?

"A guy like me? What's that supposed to mean?

Foggy rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that. It's a pretty visual game!"

"True enough. I was going to ask you to point me in the right direction, depending on whether I end up with stripes or solids."

"I could lie."

"Yeah, but you won't."

"I'm a politician, kiddo. Don't be so sure."

"'Kiddo'," Matt repeats, evidently delighted by it. "You're in a real mood, huh?"

"I'm fine," Foggy says, too sharply. "You want to break or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Matt offers, generously. "I want you to feel like you stood an actual chance, at least to start."

"You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm aware. You can save the energy you're about to put into pretending you don't like it, by the way."

"I don't like it!"

"Sure."

"I really don't," Foggy says, even as he's trying to fight a smile. And winning, but still. "Not right now I don't, at least."

"Yes, you do," Matt replies, knowingly. "Right now, me being an asshole is the only thing stopping you from taking your frustrations out on someone who doesn't deserve it."

Foggy sighs, defeated. "You don't deserve it either."

"Give it fifteen, twenty minutes and see if you still feel that way," Matt says, lightly, and nudges him with his elbow.

Foggy steps up to take the first shot, breaking the neat little triangle of billiard balls that Matt has assembled in the center of the table with the white cue ball easily. Nothing goes into a pocket, of course, not that he really expected it. He's fine at pool, generally speaking, but not great. It's a feeling he's beginning to get used to (and increasingly tired of) in the rest of his life as well.

"Let's keep it simple," he says, as he stands up. "Whoever sinks the most shots wins."

"Easy enough," Matt says, coming to stand next to him. "Where's the cue ball?"

Foggy steps in close to Matt's side, until their arms brush. "Eleven o'clock."

Matt nods and sinks down into his stance. Foggy steps back, both to get out of his way and to admire his form. Matt’s got a nice ass, which is something Foggy noticed about him basically immediately, being gifted by God with both the power of sight and the blessing of bisexuality. He can normally control himself enough to conveniently avoid noticing it, except for right now when it’s late, he’s a little tipsy, and Matt’s suit is perfectly tailored to show it off. It is, quite frankly, a ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into. Even the dim amber lighting of the bar is blending with the glow of several nearby neon signs—they serve Heineken and Pabst Blue Ribbon here, apparently—to cast Matt’s skin in the dreamiest light possible.

Matt sinks three balls without trouble before Foggy can manage to tear his gaze away from his ass, and even then, it’s only to get distracted by the lovely shape his fingers make around the cue. He misses his next shot by about three millimeters, a miracle that Foggy attributes either to the power of his overwhelming horniness creating some sort of palpable disturbance in the atmosphere or God punishing him for his lustful thoughts by contriving a scenario where Matt’s no longer bending over a pool table in his line of sight. Either way, it’s a reprieve.

“That’s you,” Matt says, still stalking around the table like a jungle cat. Foggy might need to get out more, is the thing.

“How are you this good at pool, anyway?” Foggy asks, as he lines up his shot and delicately avoids letting his hips come into contact with the table. He thinks unsensuous thoughts and doesn’t look over at Matt at all, because, with his luck, if he does, Matt will be innocently fellating the pool cue or some similar such nonsense. Better to avoid it altogether, he thinks.

“Practice,” Matt says, smugly. “And very, very dim vision, technically.”

“I didn’t know that,” Foggy says as he sinks a shot, finally. Even that, the sound of the ball finding the pocket, is kind of erotic to him now because his life is a farce.

“Yeah. Most blind people have some vision. Total blindness is fairly rare.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you totally just let me lead you around most of the time because you really just like walking arm in arm with me. Is that accurate?”

“You caught me,” Matt says, with a soft smile, and Foggy misses his next shot completely. “Not bad.”

“3 to 1,” Foggy replies, pushing himself up.

“You’re on the board,” Matt says, passing behind him closely enough that Foggy catches the scent of his cologne mixed with the Jameson left in his glass. He takes another drink and Foggy wonders what his mouth would taste like right now and also if there’s a historically significant, beautiful river nearby that he could potentially drown himself in. They’re in small town New Hampshire, after all. The chances that Benedict Arnold did something stupid near here back in 1776 and there's a scenic spot with a plaque commemorating it are pretty high. There are worse places to drown yourself, he figures.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbles, instead of saying any of that out loud.

“I wasn’t,” Matt says, grinning as he settles into his spot for his next shot.

“How much did Karen beat you by, again? I feel like it might be helpful, for me, to know.”

“It’s not fair,” Matt says in an exaggerated whine that’s in no way convincing. His smile doesn’t help either. “I’m blind and she tricked me!”

“I don’t think her being better at pool than you expected constitutes a trick on her part, Matt.”

“She let me explain the rules to her for like ten minutes!”

“And I bet she let you do that thing where you got real close and showed her how to handle the stick from behind too,” Foggy says, infusing his tone with mock pity.

“Oh, she dropped the ruse well before that point, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not above that move,” Matt says, unrepentant, and sinks another shot. “But I can always do that for you if you need some pointers!”

“Sure,” Foggy says, sweetly. “Come on over, big boy.”

Matt misses his next shot because he’s too busy doubling over with laughter. “Jesus, Foggy!”

“Don’t put anything on the table you don’t want people to accept, Murdock.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt says. “Your turn.”

Foggy sighs as he gets into position. Matt comes to stand at his side and, after a quiet moment in which Foggy attempts to line up his shot, puts his hand on the small of Foggy’s back. It takes all of Foggy’s concentration not to jump away from the touch, but he manages to keep his cool, just barely. 

“Your stance does need work,” Matt says, mildly, and kicks him in the ankle before Foggy can make a smart comment about what his lower back has to do with his stance. “Bring this foot out a little.”

Foggy complies, because his brain can’t think of anything else to do in this moment. “Better?�� he asks.

“Good,” Matt replies, and Foggy likes the tone in his voice a little too much for his own well being. “Take your shot.”

Foggy does, and scratches. The humiliation, at least, cuts through the arousal rather effectively. That’s something.

“Saboteur,” he mutters as he goes off in search of the lost cue ball.

“I can improve your stance, but your aim is your own problem.”

“A likely story,” Foggy says, as he returns. “I’m hip to your little mind games now, Murdock.”

He puts the cue ball into Matt’s outstretched hand. Matt is entitled, per the rules, to place it wherever he likes on the table to set up his next shot, but he stands there cradling it thoughtfully in his palm, testing its weight, instead, for a long moment, like a total sociopath, adding more force to the argument that Foggy is currently being punished by a mean-spirited and vengeful god.

“You know massaging that thing won’t help you score, right?”

Matt gives him a smile that indicates he either appreciates some good trash talk between men or that he’s seen through to the very heart of Foggy’s desires and found them trivial and amusing in the grand scheme of things. Either way, it’s a good look on him. 

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Matt asks, smugly, and places the cue ball before lining up his shot and sinking it in one practiced, elegant motion. “5 to 1, correct?”

“Yep,” Foggy says, leaning back to watch the show without guilt now, since he’s paying for it so dearly at the cost of his self-respect. Matt sinks another shot and Foggy doesn’t even care because he’s too transfixed by the way the fabric of Matt’s dress shirt bunches up around his bicep and spreads taught between his shoulder blades. Foggy takes a healthy sip of his drink because his mouth is suddenly so dry.

"You know," Matt says, casually, with his ass unceremoniously in the air because pool is the greatest game ever invented, in Foggy's not-entirely-sober opinion (even if he is losing spectacularly), "we are rapidly approaching the point in the game where you can't actually win."

"Yes, I'm aware. Believe it or not, I can do basic math. It's one of my very few skills."

"I don't agree with that assessment."

"You don't think I can do math?"

"I think you have lots of skills," Matt says, as he brings his score up to seven. "The gift of foresight, for one."

"What?"

Matt smiles. "You were smart to accept the offer not to play for money."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I thought—you're right. That was smart.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, I—it's not important. I was just confused for a second there."

"Foggy..."

"Just take your next shot, Matt," Foggy interjects, harshly. "You're one point away from ensuring complete domination over me."

Without turning away from him, Matt reaches out to poke the cue ball with his cue, leaving it to roll hesitantly and without urgency into the bumpers around the edge of the table. "You're up," he says, with a helpless shrug, and comes to stand next to Foggy.

He sighs. "Matt, listen—”

"I didn't mean the tobacco thing," Matt says, ignoring him. All of the levity of a moment ago is gone. They're not cheerfully messing around anymore, it looks like. "That's not how I'd bring it up. You know that, right?"

"I do know that. You wouldn't—it's just that it's been on my mind. That's why I went there. It has nothing to do with you."

Matt nods, absently. "I hope so."

"It's the truth," Foggy says, grabbing him by the arm to emphasize his sincerity. "And you've been a real class act for not rubbing my nose in it. I deserved an 'I told you so' at the very least and you haven't given me one, so I should be more appreciative."

"You don't have to thank me for not kicking you when you're down."

"I went to you for advice on how to handle things with the Appropriations subcommittee and then blatantly ignored all of the very good advice you gave me. 'I told you so' would be getting off easy."

Matt smiles, reluctantly. "To be fair, I don't think you really went to me for advice. You knew what you wanted to do before you came to me."

"What was I looking for then?"

"Permission," Matt suggests. "Forgiveness. Maybe some mild fawning over your political acumen."

"All of the above, maybe," Foggy admits, warily, and rubs his face. "I'm sorry."

"For which part?"

"Ignoring your good advice, for one thing. And, well, if I made you feel like I was pulling rank on you, that's not good either."

Matt laughs. "You do outrank me, Foggy."

“Still,” Foggy says. “I like to think I’m not that guy, usually.”

“What guy?”

“The one who’s so far up his own ass that he can’t see anyone else’s point of view.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, thoughtfully. “You’re definitely not that guy.”

“I was to you.”

“Not really. It was one situation where you didn’t take my advice. That’s going to happen if we work together for any stretch of time. It’s going to happen again, I’d guess. I hate to think you’re going to beat yourself up this much every time.”

Foggy nudges Matt with his elbow ineffectively. “You’re being too nice to me.”

“And you’re being too hard on yourself,” Matt replies. “Someone’s got to be nice to you. Might as well be me.”

“I notice this vow of kindness doesn’t extend to letting me win at pool.”

“Even I have my limits of good grace, Foggy,” Matt says, with a smile. “Besides, I already lost once tonight. My ego barely survived it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says, earning a confused look from Matt. “Karen asked me to check on you before she left. She was worried about your fragile mental state, that maybe you were weeping over your humiliation alone in the bathroom.”

“No such luck,” Matt laughs.

“My theory was that we had you to thank for the back-to-back Shania Twain songs on the jukebox at the time.”

“Also not true, but only because Shania Twain isn’t exactly sulking music.”

“Speak for yourself,” Foggy says. “I could sulk to Shania.”

“Well, that’s why they pay you the big bucks, I guess,” Matt replies, absently leaning his weight onto the pool cue. “I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Foggy pauses with his glass midway to his lips. “What?”

“When Karen and I finished our game,” Matt says, still brightly but with a strange edge, like he’s not sure mentioning this is the right thing to do. “I thought you were still outside with Jeri.”

“I was,” Foggy says, and then reconsiders. “I mean, I was for most of your game, I think. When I came back in, you two seemed to be finishing up.”

They also seemed to be laughing and touching a whole lot, which is why Foggy hadn’t come over. He’d slunk off to drink at a table with Marci and Ben and a few of the new people Jeri had hired to run the campaign while they went nine rounds over the wording of a single sentence in the speech for the President’s official announcement for the bid for re-election. The senior staff and the campaign staff were finding it difficult to mesh together so far and it meant that this important speech was stuck in limbo between them like a child of divorce in a nasty custody battle. Everyone, it seemed, was having a miserable time of it lately, which was especially inconvenient because there’d never been more scrutiny on the administration before this particular moment.

Matt was, technically, campaign staff but he’d been on the payroll longer than anyone else, because he’d been doing polling for them for a while now and they’d just decided to extend his contract and fold it into their re-election efforts. So far, he was keeping his head above water and wasn’t getting embroiled in the stupid little pissing matches happening elsewhere, which was impressive. He’d also been pitching in and helping with the announcement speech where he could, but there were a lot of egos to soothe or flatter in that area and it wasn’t what they were specifically paying him to do. Still, Foggy’s been pleased so far watching him navigate these tense situations and remain professional and undeterred in spite of them. It’s partly because Foggy had been the one to recommend Matt in the first place that he feels such obvious pride, but it’s hard to ignore that there’s another reason for it. He’s trying to make peace with the fact that he’s more than incidentally in love with Matt and constant proximity is not tempering it at all. In fact, seeing Matt every day now and watching him succeed at the thing he loves doing makes Foggy so absurdly happy, it’s almost like these professional victories are happening to him by proxy. Which means, in terms of ever getting past this unfortunate crush, Foggy is monumentally fucked.

“You should have come over,” Matt says, still talking about his game of pool with Karen, oblivious to Foggy’s inner torment. “She said you would, when you got back.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I’m bad company tonight,” Foggy says, spreading his arms out defensively.

“You’re never bad company, as far as I can tell.”

“What did I ever do to earn such loyalty from you? Just let me call myself an asshole, man.”

Matt sighs, disappointed. “You made one mistake, Foggy. You’ve got to—”

“I made a mistake that could cost us the election!”

“It could, but that doesn’t mean it will! It’s still early and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. And, more importantly, you got the Justice Department 30 million dollars to go after the tobacco industry! That’s what they asked you to do! That’s a victory! Why don’t you see that?”

“Because there was a larger victory that I left on the table in my need to get anything done in this fucking town,” Foggy says. “I mean, not this town. We’re in Bumblefuck, New Hampshire. But you know…”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I followed that,” Matt says, unimpressed. “And smaller victories are nothing to scoff at. I think you’ve been in this business so long you’ve lost sight of that. Small victories are how you build your way up to bigger ones. In fact, most big victories are comprised of smaller ones. You’re good at what you do, Foggy. You know all this!”

“I don’t feel good at this anymore.”

“Yeah, well, speaking as someone who grew up around professional boxers, I’ll tell you that the right time to ask a man about his next fight is not when he’s just been K.O.’d. You’ve still got the flashlight in your eyes checking for a concussion. I wouldn’t make any career judgments right now.”

“You think we’ve been K.O.’d?” Foggy asks.

“I think the administration’s on its ass right now, for sure,” Matt replies, with the steely calm of a real political operative and Foggy’s pride in him is not misplaced even a little, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t get back up. The numbers I’m seeing are better than expected and they’re built on all the good you’ve done for the last three years. People will remember why they voted for you guys in the first place soon enough.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“I am and I think that earns me the right to say something that might hurt your feelings a bit.”

Foggy takes a fortifying sip of his drink, bracing himself. “Go for it, then.”

“As great as you are, this election won’t be won or lost on your actions alone,” Matt says, gently. “I know it’s tempting to decide that what you personally do or don’t do is the most important thing in the universe, to take every setback as a condemnation of your efforts and proof that you need to double down and do more, but you’re a part of a team. It’s not up to you to win this election by yourself. And it won’t be your fault and only yours if we don’t.”

“Why would that hurt my feelings?” Foggy asks, far too casually. He doesn’t know who he thinks he’s trying to fool here.

“Because it would hurt mine,” Matt says, “if our situations were reversed.”

Foggy understands that for what it is: an offer of a hand up off the ground, an acknowledgement that he and Matt are the same in this regard. It’s not nothing and he’d be wise to take what’s being given to him here, but he’s not quite there yet.

“I could have done more, Matt.”

“And you’ll have plenty of chances to do so. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I think it’s always going to haunt me, the things we didn’t get through, the things we compromised on to appeal to our opposition. I think it’ll kill me, eventually.”

“You’ve done a lot of good too.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, solemnly. “But enough? I’m not sure.”

Matt lets that sit, rather than trying to placate him with some sort of truism, which is nice. It’s meaningful to him that Matt knows this isn’t some empty question coming from him, that Foggy really means it when he asks it. He feels certain that this is something Matt worries about too, that this is a question Matt’s asked himself at the end of many days before. It’s dangerous, honestly, feeling this close to someone. This kind of intimacy isn’t something he feels capable of shaking off and pretending isn’t there, most of the time.

“You didn’t answer my question before, you know,” he says, eventually, even though it feels sacrilegious to break this particular silence.

“Which one?” Matt asks, shifting the cue back and forth between his hands in what could be a nervous tic or maybe he’s just bored with this conversation. It’s hard to tell.

“The one about what I did to earn such loyalty.”

Matt shrugs, staring into the middle distance. “You got me this job, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I remembered your name. That’s about it. Everything else was a result of your hard work.”

“Then, I guess it’s all for remembering my name.”

“That’s the real answer?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Matt replies, leaning into his side. “If you win this game, I’ll give you the real answer.”

“I’d need a miracle for that to happen,” Foggy grumbles. “Are you sure I can’t just bribe you?”

“Okay, final offer,” Matt answers, with a cryptic smile, “you get the eight ball into any pocket on this turn and you win.”

“That’s a stupid bet, Murdock. Where did you learn to gamble?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“You’re winning seven to one. Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just that confident that you won’t be able to make the shot.”

“Or maybe you just really want to tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

“My deepest, darkest secret has nothing to do with you, Foggy. You’re getting a shallow, well lit secret out of me in this bargain, if anything.”

“We’ll see,” Foggy replies, breezily, as he approaches the table to line up his shot. He doesn’t have Matt’s lithe sort of confidence or any kind of delusion that he’d paint a tempting picture right now even for someone who could see him, but he is stupidly determined, so he likes his odds in this situation just fine.

“Oh,” Matt interrupts, innocently, at the precise moment Foggy was going to pull his cue back and take the shot. “Since we’re now wagering on the outcome of this game, I should ask: what do I get?”

“What do you get?” Foggy repeats, irritated. He feels certain Matt timed that question to throw him off and he’s not pleased about it. “You’re going to beat me in the most humiliating way possible! What more do you need?”

“I’d like a secret too.”

“Fine, but you had better be satisfied with an equally shallow, well lit one from me too.”

“That kind of depends on what kind of secret you consider the answer to my question to be.”

“What question?”

“What made you remember my name?”

Foggy actually stands up to consider this fully. It’s hard to tell with Matt, if he’s aware of the way Foggy can’t help but flirt with him sometimes and how seriously he takes it. Matt gives as good as he gets, Foggy thinks, but whether he knows that Foggy would gladly make real on all the innuendo he throws at him is another matter. All of which just makes it that much more confusing why he’d make this request in the first place. Does he want flattery? Does he want some confirmation that the new opportunities in his career were gotten honestly? Or does he want Foggy to admit to something here? And why would he want that? To laugh at him? To clear the air? To prove his suspicions about why he got this job are true?

Foggy’s not prepared for any of those scenarios. Matt is maybe just joking around (though he certainly doesn’t look like it) but he’s asking for a bigger secret than he realizes. And Foggy will not be explaining that to him, because even that would be admitting too much. They’re going to be working together closely for a while yet and Foggy’s not going to ruin it now, not right out of the gate. He’s got more instinct for self-preservation than that.

“Fine,” he says, setting his sights on the eight ball again. “You have yourself a deal. Now, shut up and stop distracting me.”

Matt crosses his arms over his chest, looking self-satisfied and unconcerned. This expression changes into one of shock and disbelief at the sound of the eight ball landing in the middle pocket on the left side of the table.

“Like I said,” Foggy states, rounding the corner of the table, “that was a bad bet.”

“You cheated,” Matt exclaims.

“How?”

“I didn’t hear the cue touch the ball. Did you—did you just move the eight ball with your hand?!”

“Of course,” Foggy says, with a shrug. “You never said how I had to get the eight ball into the pocket, only that it had to happen on my next turn.”

Matt laughs in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous! And very clearly against the rules!”

“Not against the ones you set, though. Technically.”

“Yeah, technically, I guess,” Matt says. “But don’t you feel bad winning this way?”

“Of course not,” Foggy answers, gesturing widely with the cue still in his hands. “I’m a pathetic little man, Matthew.”

“Five minutes ago, I would have argued with that kind of negative self-talk, but I’m no longer feeling generous towards you at all.”

Foggy shrugs as he reaches past Matt for his drink. “I would totally understand if you didn’t want to uphold your end of the bargain, by the way. I mean, if our situations were reversed, I would still do it, but I’m a class act, through and through.”

“You’re a cheat is what you are,” Matt says, and it might be the inadequate lighting in here playing tricks on him, but Foggy thinks there might be color rising in Matt’s cheeks. “This is why no one trusts anyone in Washington, you know.”

“I know,” Foggy says, indulgently. “Like I said, it’s up to you. But you’ll also recall I warned you never to put something on the table that you don’t want your opponent to accept.”

“I didn’t mind the idea of you winning, I just didn’t think you’d cheat to get it!”

“Then you underestimated how baffled I am by your loyalty to me.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Matt says, leaning back to rest more fully against the table behind him. “I think it’s obvious why I’d…what makes me feel that way towards you.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Foggy replies, at the same moment he realizes Matt leaning back didn’t put that much space between them after all. He’d gotten pretty close to reach for his drink and, maybe, just to push this conversation from trash talk more firmly into flirting territory. For someone who doesn’t want to fuck things up, he’s really pushing his luck.

Matt exhales noisily, and Foggy can feel it on his neck, that’s how close they’re standing. They’re in a bar, of course, so they have their excuses. It’s noisy, with the patrons and the jukebox and the TVs. They could need privacy, given the jobs they have and the sensitive nature of the information they have access to as part of them. But that’s not why Foggy’s doing this and he suspects that, even if he’s just following Foggy’s lead, Matt doesn’t ultimately have a better reason.

“Why did you remember me?” Matt asks, quietly. “I mean, me, of all people? What made me stand out? What did I do right?”

Everything, Foggy wants to say. You do everything right. You’re smart and conscientious and charming and everyone likes you and everyone remembers you and you’ve got a mind and mouth that won’t quit and an ass to match. Remembering you wasn’t the hard part. Forgetting you someday will be. “Matthew Murdock,” Foggy says, carefully, appreciatively, like he’s really savoring every vowel and consonant. “Very alliterative. Extremely easy to remember.”

Matt’s answering smile is slow-dawning to the point of decadence and he tucks his chin to hide it. “My middle name is Michael, you know.”

“Goddammit,” Foggy groans, because he can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is, come back to my room and I’ll make sure you never want to leave. He’s so fucking in love, it’s honestly stupid.

“As for me,” Matt says, a moment later, after careful consideration, “and what you did—why I feel so—what you asked, I mean…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just that—”

A loud, chirping ringtone severs the tenuous connection of the moment. Foggy stares openly at Matt’s face as he doesn’t react to the interruption at all beyond stopping talking mid-sentence. After a few tense seconds, Foggy clears his throat and steps back.

“I think that’s you, Matt.”

Matt blinks, like he’s waking for a dream and he doesn’t know where he is. “Right,” he says, without confidence and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He holds it like he doesn’t remember owning such a thing in the first place for a long moment before he flips it open to answer it.

“Hello?” he asks, frowning in concentration. “Oh, Nadia, hi. Yeah, no, not too late, don’t worry. Can you give me one second?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts his hand over the receiver before addressing Foggy. “We’re doing some polling of potential voters on the West Coast tonight, and they need to give me the early data.”

“Right.”

“The speech writing team is going to want this information tomorrow. It will impact the messaging.”

“Understood,” Foggy nods. “You, uh, need to take this, then.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Matt admits, looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry. Cell service is a little better outside, if that helps.”

Matt frowns briefly before his expression clears and he nods briskly. “Thanks. That might be a good idea.”

“I’ll, um, clean this up,” Foggy says, gesturing to the pool table. “You go ahead.”

“Alright,” Matt says, chewing his lip. “Will you head out after that?”

“I might. I could, I guess. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You want me to wait? Walk back to the hotel with you when you’re done?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt responds, looking awkward. It’s a nice out, and it would probably be better to put a little space between them—it’s just too tempting for Foggy to be around Matt like this, late at night, in casual environments, with alcohol and dumb wagers blurring the lines between them that should be crystal clear.

“I’ll wait,” he says, instead, hating the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t mind waiting.”

The worst part is that it’s the most honest thing he’s said all night.

[aetherin21]

An Image of my last spring

Pairing: Getou Suguru x Reader

Genre: Angst with comfort, small fluff

Notes: Reader is a sorcerer turned office worker just like Nanami :) if I ever see mistakes here I'll change and fix it in my Ao3. This has been in my drafts for like 3 weeks I think and I just wanna post it now before I forget hahaha also this is inspired by Dr. Park's words of Suguru being Satoru's last spring of youth and the Promotional art of the Season 2 of JJK :)

5:35 PM

February 3, 2017

Shibuya Station

Soulless is the sound of steady tapping that echoes through the air while the floor gently vibrates to where I currently stood. Its constant rhythm encloses the area in its own little bubble, creating an ecosystem far beyond any person's reach. 

At the corner of my eye, I could see the sight of rushing bodies reaching the depths of where I hid as I waited patiently for my train to arrive. Like a glorified aquarium, splashes of muddy white, blues, browns and black mixes in with the current school of people. It's not hard to miss their colorful forms as they slowly turn into a raging tide of their own. Their gradual awakening signals the beginning of the evening rush hour. And soon, without a doubt I'll be caught by that wave of meat.

With that thought, being unable to escape from its nauseating grip could make me kneel and pray to no one in particular. Dragging my vessel to its epicenter, fully engulfed by the unpleasant sensation of rubbing flesh and hot breath fanning through the tiny bumps of exposed skin; consumed by its awful flow. It's much easier to swallow the idea of being executed in a horrific fashion than to be judged by their so-called righteous mallet and scornful eyes. Forever condemned by its world court and abandoned with no other island besides my own. Is what I initially thought anyway.

"Maybe I should have done some overtime again…" I mumble to myself.

Deciding to Ignore the countdown of my impending doom, I exhaled the bitterness within me. Fiddling at the small screen I held. Distracting myself had become a ritual of mine, a sort of coping habit that developed through the decade that was so unkind. Letting myself submerge to another aether, not allowing a single thought or emotion leak through the cracks of my stone shell. Pumping the veins etched in me with calm adrenaline as if I am in a state of a passing nirvana.

Funnily enough, it reminds me of that film Rocky. Particularly that famous scene where the protagonist trained intensely while the song 'Eye Of The Tiger' plays in the background. Capturing the essence of his perseverance, strength and hardwork. Just like him, I'll be entering my own very montage except the loud music blasting through my ears will astral project my soul to another dimension as my body turns into a human sandwich. Very dramatic. I know but I would rather meet my end in style than to... Huh — Weird. That last line sounds awfully too familiar. Ringing unusual bells in the depths of my mind. 

Did I used to say that? It feels out of character. Out of place. It's too cool and somewhat edgy for someone like me to say. Yet it tasted a little foreign and familiar at the same time. Scratching my chin in place of a brain, I could only conclude I might have gotten it from someone else. But where exactly?

Think, think, think…It can't be from my coworkers nor from my family. They're all too normal and boring to say something like that. I don't have many friends to begin with either so that’s out of the question. 

With how tingly my tongue is, the answer seems to be at the edge already. Maybe it came from an action movie that I had watched before? It is rather cliche in format.  If I repeat it, will it come out? 

To meet my end in style. To meet my end in style. To meet my end in — 

Chanting it like a spell, I summoned what lies beyond those lines. But all too quickly, the grinning image of a boy flashed before my eyes. Both falling and burning way too fast as it reached the ends of my fingertips. Only its ashes remain before I could even hold it in the palm of my hands.

The lighthouse that often watches over me, sensed my growing sorrow within. Casting a stream of yellows beyond the horizon, it guides my sight towards the answers I seek. I remember where that line came from. 

Satoru, the annoying gigantic furby, used to play good cop and bad cop with another boy his size. Both of them were enamored by western films they constantly watch a lot. Sometimes they would often repeat every written dialogue like some new gag. Meticulously pushing every button they can to see what tickles our funny bones. It was annoying to deal with but also endearing nonetheless.

How could I forget something like that?

Looking at the station clock, its hands seemed to move painfully slow. Taking lifetimes to reach the five thirty-eight mark. On the other hand, the esteemed crowd from earlier had displaced themselves where they were supposed to be. Leaving me lost and jaded at a memory that had long since faded. 

Truthfully, I no longer have the courage and strength to pick every bit and piece that used to be a part of me. I let it all wash away from the lonely shore and let it erase what used to be who I am. Yet from time to time, a photo would emerge and greet me as I stood in the infinite sands alone. Images of old crammy classrooms, buildings and statues mock me in silence as I had forgotten everything. Only to remind me once again of what I used to cherish and the foolish thinking of everything lasting forever. That and also the free rides the assigned windows give.

Now, it makes me wonder if it was ever like that to that estranged boy in those photographs? The commute, I mean. I am curious to know; Was he able to dodge the mangy currents of limbs easily? His height seems to suggest so. Towering so much at such a young age. It gives this sense that he was unreachable, untouchable and unattainable especially to someone like me. The aura he gives off as he perches above exudes mystery, intimidation and a strange selfish holiness. I imagine being that tall has a lot of privileges. To be able to see the world that no mortal could have. Or just easily avoid any unwanted circumstance if he wished to. It's unfair, really. Both him and Satoru. 

But God does not play favorites. In some way or another, in any shape or form it will come for you. To balance the rules of this reality, judgment will strike at any possibility. Cutting down both the fair and the unfair, continuously hunting down anyone it deems to be worthy of such. From the station platform where I stood to the streets of Shibuya, the supermarkets from the residential district and any place it wishes; there was no way to hide from it. Just like the sea of meat that ogles its new victim. But I guess he already knew that. Right?

Ah, since we're on that topic. What kind of sandwich would everyone be anyway? I just think it's funny since I am going to be one in a few minutes. I think, for one, I am probably like those cheap konbini ones that sometimes dupe you with no filling. Leaving you disappointed as you take your first and last bite. Why that of all things? Guess I am too small to even fill up the space, too insignificant but still ends up getting squished by the bread. 

Shoko would probably be like those freshly homemade ones. The type that rejuvenates the soul as they take a mouthful. The feeling of home that dawns on the crevice of their bones while gnawing on the crunchy lettuce and juicy tomatoes. And once the last bite takes place a sudden realization of life struck. They jolt back from their wake and once again walk to another reprieve. Ah, I miss her. I wonder if she still has that bad habit of smoking.

Satoru, on the other hand, would be those luxury ones that cost a fortune but leave you with a thought, 'That's it?' A wasteful value or some popular commodity that's hard to reach. Beautiful, intricate and praised all while the dreaded guilt binds the person in an awkward greed as they throw money away for just a simple taste. Sprinkle in gold and baby blue, they'll feel they mattered. Even though it's just a sandwich. Although, to carry such high prestige, one could only be proud for there is no replica that can copy such material. Thus becoming the greatest snack of all. I can't believe this guy is the same age as me. 

But the question is, what about him? The dark haired boy that lingers behind the shadow of the one and only Gojo Satoru. 

I suppose with his size and sense of morals, he would be one of those premium fast food chicken sandwiches. Where the bun can't hold him in place cause all the limbs will spill out from the sides along with its special sauce, creating such a goopy mess on your hands as you eat. But due to being the cheaper alternative than Satoru, hands are more eager to devour what it has to offer. Blinding and burning everyone who tasted his tender meat. Along with myself. Ha! It suits that boy, right? Right…

Giggling to myself, these silly little ideas brought genuine joy to my lips. The foreign warmth that spreads through my cheeks as my eyes form into crescent moons. I can't help but think, how long has it been?

Too busy investing in drawing crude pictures of human comparison to wheat delicacies, I had failed to notice the shadow of the looming casket over my very being. The cries of its brakes scratching at the conch of my ear ripped me from la la land all too suddenly. As if it was demanding my attention like a dog and their favorite toy. Except, instead of such an adorable view, it's replaced by a pristine, well kept wagon that regurgitates passengers from its belly. Of course, everyone around me had waited in anticipation for this moment. Too eager to leave this dreadful place and confine themselves in the better space of their home. Except for me.

With the same sentiment, I too readied myself as the last person left the metal doors. Lowering my gaze and refusing to meet any watchful eyes, I let my legs move in autopilot. After all, the thing that I have dreaded since the very beginning is coming to a climax. I could only pretend to be a criminal waiting for the noose and prostrating myself to an ever exaggerated ruin. But amidst such a forlorn play, a scent had caught my foot mid step. 

Candies, cigarettes, incense, and sandalwood. 

Such an odd combination painted the air like a wretched canvas and brought cold sweat onto my skin. The colors of red, blue, violet and yellow blurs around my vision while accompanied by a distinct joyous laughter, seemingly mocking me in my wake. The faint words of goodbyes and farewells also catches my attention as I suffer from gut retching nauseousness. 

As if I knew whose voices they were.

I covered my face with my own two hands as a hint of bile threatened the edge of my throat. Knocking me into a hunching posture, heaving in sudden agony. The raunchy taste of sharp yet tangy acid covered my palette in a short amount of time that it had me in tears. It did not help that I could feel onlookers watch with both worry and annoyance at my blocking form towards their so-called freedom. 

Forced to wave a feign OK, I unwillingly apologized for the mishap I had caused and stepped away momentarily from the line. Letting myself recuperate and expel the visceral sensation from my body with much cleaner air. Although, I can’t help a part of me be annoyed as well. Does this person not have etiquette at all?

Bugged by my consciousness, unable to let it go. I searched for the origin of such a revolting smell. Looking left to right not moving from my spot. Hoping to give a piece of my mind to their disturbing work of art. An artwork that for some reason I couldn't help but chase in strange yearning. But of course, with my luck, there was no one attached to its disembodied stench. The culprit had already fled the scene of the crime. Leaving me, the victim, vexed and perplexed. 

But based on the contents of the stupid fragrance, that person probably had an ingenious idea to spray such a strong perfume to get rid of the cigarette and incense attached to their person. Still, regardless of reason, my head lingers in the direction to wherever it may have come from. Even foolishly imprinting it in my lungs like a masochist. After all, it's absurd for that boy to — 

“Be here with you?” 

April fools is still two months from now. I am not sure if I know anyone who celebrates such a childish event other than Satoru. I doubt he’ll come for me in advance either. Our relationship hasn't been the best in these god awful years. The last notable conversation we both had was around December.

Surely this is just a small bout of insanity. A figment of my wild imagination conjured from my exhaustion. After all, weeks of overtime can do wonders to the brain. It explains my sudden obsession with sandwich analogies and weird feelings of extreme melancholy. Or…Wait. Don’t tell me the strange smell came from a curse? Was I afflicted by it? 

The more the people, the more negative emotions spill out. This platform is a perfect den to give birth to such abominable creatures. Especially with the amount of impoverished salarymen and women who often take this train, spilling their unwanted frustration and bitterness onto the floor tiles. That must be it. 

Confronting the glass window of the train, I braced myself for the sudden encounter. Clutching my sling bag close, a small cursed tool can be found deep in its pockets. Carefully tucked away for emergencies just like this. 

Thankfully, it's been drilled into my subconsciousness on procedures regarding random contacts: First, always confirm the target. Second, never forget to put a curtain. Third, exorcise it with caution. If worse comes to show, then there's the fourth option, run away and call for the real professionals. Whatever this creature is, even at my grade, I can handle it. Is what I believe.

Yet, it seems nothing can prepare me for the familiar silhouette staring back at me. 

Slightly obscured by the reflection of sandwiched passengers, there he stood in his full glory. Hair tied up in a neat knot with only a few stubborn clumps falling above his eyes. Ears pierced by deep black gems that glimmer under the artificial lights. Soft lips, ever so curtly forming into a thin smile as his obsidian eyes contorted into a tender gaze. Seemingly admiring the reflection of the both of us finally beside each other. He didn’t change at all. Still the same as I remembered.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?”

Beep

Beep

Beep

Beep

I knew from the bottom of my heart that this isn’t an amalgamation of people’s negative emotions. As foolish as it sounds even with Ms. Tsukumo’s explanation about curses and sorcerers, I knew with one look this is mine. I am cursed and this is my haunted house. Because here you are with me. Alone. Together on this platform, purposely making me miss my train home. 

“You never said goodbye.” 

Humming a low playful tune, he linked his slender finger gently with the small of mine as the subtle wind blew over us. Just with that small gesture, the orchestra nestled within me didn’t know what sheet to read. Too confused about what to play in front of its single audience. So Instead, to appease the lone watcher, it chooses to perform all of it at once. Anger, joy, sadness and everything in between. What a laughable performance. 

“I guess, I owe you an overdue apology.”

The drumstick hits the surface harder than it should, resonating through every crevice of my flesh with a loud bang. My head sharply turned to his direction, controlled by the awful strike. His nonchalant and unremorseful response baffled my consciousness. “Guess!? Am I a joke to you? Is that the only reason why you’re here? To give me pity?” 

Ten years, that’s how long since I’ve last seen his face. And all he could do is mock me with his boyish smile while giggling at my sudden outburst. How cruel can he be?

Filled with distrust, my body flinched as I watched his hand delicately tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His eyes still filled with never ending adoration even as my body betrayed him. “So this is what you look like after ten years.” he said as he now traced my cheek, holding me in the palm of his hand as if time never separated us. "You haven't changed at all. Still very pretty." 

I hate this. I hate the feeling of such soft bass melting my skin into nothing but putty. Smoothing the creases of my face as I plead for more. How even such a simple yet cliche string of words dulls my senses and becomes high just from its mere echoes. Furious, I wish I could be at this moment but furious I was not. “You're insufferable, you know that?”

Chasing foolishly his warmth, my head leaned into his touch. Too starved from his affection. All while the course of the symphony in my heart changes its tune to match the sudden drops of tears from my very own lashes. "And I hate you." I said to him bitterly. 

Unfazed by those petty words, he only laughed again but this time more softly. “I know and you still love me for it.” 

With a small step, the boy hovered his immense stature over me with ease. Casting a long shadow on my form as if it was a cage I can’t escape from. I already know what he’s about to do so I only stood patiently like a good girl, ready for him to consume. 

“I miss you.” He prayed on my forehead. “I really miss you.” He whispered next, on top of my nose. “I really did.” He continued to edge at the corner of my lips, drinking my silent cries away. “And I still do now.” He said as he finally took my lips with his own. 

There we mended and molded back to each other's heated embrace. Hands desperately closing the space till there was none as we spoke in a language we both knew how to communicate.

Ever so gentle that he is, his tongue asks for my permission as we move further than just a simple dance of mouth. The wet sensation that swipes at the entrance had me reeling through my core as I let him do as he pleases. Basking in the warmth of him, the boy smiled as he conquered me. He knew I was easily intoxicated, how easily I get addicted and he knew the power he has over me. A special privilege only he could have. A privilege of having me.

However I am not the only one. The way his hand desperately moves over from my front and on to my back, rubbing at whatever clothed flesh he can latch on too. Dying for more skinship. Even the way his breath hitch and moan vibrated through my being, I could tell he too is drunk from this public display of debauchery. 

We were both hungry and that's the truth. But not in the sense of lust or desire but rather a deep yearning of forgiveness and loss of affection. Even our fervent moans turn to songs of devotion under the cathedral of us. My cries are the wine that cleanses his soul and his touch is the communion that renews my heart. Of course, such intensity always has an end. Too much and one could have drowned at the pits of insanity. 

So the second our lungs sync in need of oxygen, we parted our ways. Yet both our eyes still linger where our lips were once connected. Shamelessly wanting more than just a kiss but too embarrassed to share another. Instead with a compromise, our foreheads remained pressed together in content.

“Wow, public indecency? Really? You’re better than this.” The boy scolded mischievously, voice dripping in sweet childish passion. Very romantic.

Rolling my eyes, I broke from the intimacy. Just to slap his shoulder in retaliation. Knowing full well what his sense of humor is like, I laughed at his stupidity. “You’re the one who started it!” But even so, my cheeks couldn’t help turn into cherries as we continued our banter just like old times.

“Ow! Now, you're hitting me? That’s assault!” He whined, deliberately rubbing the harsh contact for emphasis. “I don't remember you being this mean!” Even adding a sprinkle of a pout to top off his shenanigans. Not gonna lie, it was cute to look at. But I won't let myself be swayed by his charming looks. So with gritted teeth, I said whole heartedly in jest. “I wish I could hit you more, you dumbass!”

After hearing that the plastered smile on his face seemed to grow playfully. My words had lit a fire within him. Laying down the school bag he carried on the ground, he spread his arms and puffed his chest for me to see. Apprehensive by his actions, I took a small step back and waited for his next move. Unsure what his true motives are. “Alright. I’ll let you. If you kiss the wound after.” He said jokingly.

Ah, I forgot how horny teenagers were…

Exhaling between my palms, a part of me wished to scream in silent frustration but that would honor him a win in this childish endeavor. Rather turning the tides to my favor, what better way to do than just simply comply to his own whims.

Winding my arm as far back as I can, there I summoned all the strength this body could muster at the edge of my fists. Fair and square I punched him straight in the face. Landing a mark on his apples while his pair of peaches lay splat on the floor as a look of utter shock adorned his sharp features. Of course, never in a million years the boy would think I could pull such a punch. After all, that wasn’t my forte to begin with. Jokes on him though, that was me from before and not the me of now. 

Before I could let him say a word, I crouched down to his level and left a tender kiss on his wound. Licking it for good measure. “Two could play that game.” I whispered, leaving a gentle blow to his now reddened ear. 

Putting a small distance, I observed my precious win. His face all heated up like a boiling kettle. It was his turn to cover his face. Gaze unable to straighten, looking anywhere else but me. It's such a delicious sight seeing him come undone by just mere strength alone. “Wh– when did you learn how to hit like that?” Oh, was that a stutter? 

A new sense of pride swells within as this is the first time I had an upper hand on him. Pursing my lips in feign innocence, I batted my lashes as cutely as I could. My head rested on the palm of my hand as a finger tapped in thought. “Who knows? It's been ten years since the last time we saw each other. A lot could happen.”

“That’s fair.” He sighed.

Rosy lips forming a thin line, he shuffled on the floor. Finding a more comfortable position sitting crisscrossed in front of me. Mimicking my earlier pose, his hand rested on his palm as well. Contemplating something within him as a tiny glint nestled its way to his marbles. Suddenly staring intensely at my figure, I blinked twice to decipher his actions. I presume it's another challenge? Or perhaps sulking under the weight of my victory? 

Yet a minute has passed by and no signs of unusual movement can be seen. Only continuing his unwavering gaze at my form. Still, I won’t back down for the next fight.  That is, until a loud horn and the sound of grinding wheels distract me from my spot. 

The next train had rudely arrived and it announced itself proudly in front of us, lowering my guard completely. To the scheming boy, this was his perfect opportunity. It was natural after all, when one sees an opening one would attack mercilessly. And that’s what he did. Stealing a small peck from my lips and holding two peace signs in front of my face. My eyes could only dilate from his actions as the grin grew as large as the half moon. “Gotcha. I win!” he said proudly. 

Too dumbfounded, I ended up bursting from laughter. Nodding my head I unanimously agreed to his victory and accepted my own defeat like a proper adult I am. “What do you want as a reward?” I asked, adoring his boyish facade that seemed to light up from something so trivial. “I’ve been giving a lot of kisses lately, I think it lost its value.” 

Humming in thought, the boy turned his head towards the train. Inspecting the unusual empty shell as if searching his deep darkest desire in its exterior. The bangs that covered his eyes gently sway from his movements as the glowing light from the fluorescent light cascades his porcelain skin. Framing his youth in a portrait that won't last. “Tell me a story then.” He said, looking back at me with the answer he had found. My palms could only turn to puddles as I anticipated his next words, a strange nervousness washed over me. 

“I want to hear everything that happened to you when we were apart.” 

“Okay.”

Is what I said as his hands now intertwined with mine while we sat properly on the platform bench. Our surroundings have long been abandoned ever since I missed my last train. I am not sure how many more passed by but there was no next wave of crowd that came from the entrance and exits. The whole area felt like it was our own little domain. Our own little ecosystem.

“Where do you want me to start?” I asked timidly. Knowing where all this was going. I am not a fool. It had already gnawed at the back of my head since the scent of his wafted through the air. 

“How about when you left the technical school?” he asked curiously. 

“Alright.” I said.

The moment I opened my mouth, stories flowed into the space we occupied. Transforming the scenery into a dream-like state found in one of those shoujo mangas. Blabbering this and that, and that and this. The text bubbles were empty yet its meaningful conversations reside in its containers for only our ears to hear. As pages turned to the next, our expressions filled each panel with comical laughter, shock, anger and tears. Together we both laid each other bare as our bodies mimed the years of what could have been. 

A part of me wishes this moment could last forever. But I knew that was impossible. God never plays favorites. All I could do is make the most of what was given. Savoring the comfort that is him. An image of my last spring. 

So I paused my words mid sentence, my body moved closer to his. This time it's my turn to trap him in my own little cage. Kissing his lips with the same intensity as the scorching sun. Biting, marking and clawing my way through a never ending longing, wishing more than I should. As words that are never spoken but only lingering between us leaves my mouth, I pray to his exposed skin: cheeks, ears, neck, wrist and palms all my shameless I love yous. 

With the wit of a hawk and sight of an owl, The boy had already noticed my silent fears dressed in growing affection. Manifesting them into words, he could only ask softly. “Tell me. Why won’t you say my name?” 

Frozen in place, I searched through his eyes what he had just said. As it sinks in, my brows furrowed, hoping for him to not inquire further. Yet what reflected back was his own silent plea. You are so cruel, you know that.

“I know.” he leaned in to whisper while his sharp nose nestled under my jaw. Always the mind reader this guy. “But I want to hear it from your lips.”

With such a request, I bowed my head in utter humiliation. Unable to look him in the eye. My lips quiver as I silently confess my sins to him. “If I say it, I feel like you’re gonna disappear again.” 

A faint touch raised my head to meet with him once more. The quiet desperation and the childish eagerness from earlier had disappeared. This time our kiss felt much slower and much sweeter. “Please look at me.” He begged. 

Yet I still refuse. 

As the stubborn man that he is, he continued haunting my lips. Tender touches became pleading ghosts and the blowing air cursed my trembling. “I need to hear it.” 

I could only peek from my lashes while my mouth shivers from the eerie peck that landed ever so lightly. Constantly being tempted like this just to adhere to his whims, I couldn’t help counting each one as he tried to make me submit. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

And at the seventh kiss, he deepened it.

My mind instantly went blank with the constant edging and the sudden ferocity of the kiss. All sense of control washes away, unable to restrain myself any further. I moaned his name in finality. The twist, the turn and the tap of each syllable at the chambers of my mouth felt freeing. I couldn’t hold back the tears that ran through my skin. Bawling like a lost child in front him. But he only embraced me in his arms, gently rocking us back and forth as I repeatedly called him over and over again. 

“Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.” 

“I am still here.” he said, breaking the evil spell that tormented me for such a long time. Catching all the photographs scattered in the ocean. One by one giving them back to me. It hurts. It hurts so much. 

“Why did you leave me?” 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“Why only Shoko and Satoru? Why not me?”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

Questions after questions flowed, aching for answers that I already knew but I wish I could hear from his own lips too. Punching him over and over his chest, I can’t seem to hate him. All I can do is accept what he has given. You’re so selfish. So unfair. 

Grabbing the next hit, he forced me to look him in the eye. The image that greeted me isn't the boy I once knew. Replaced by a man sculpted in righteous reverie, cloth cut from the edges of apathy. This man’s eyes are filled with never ending desires that seem to want to drown me in it. A strange thirst and hunger different from a beast, that no flesh and water can calm its currents.

This is a Suguru who I don’t know of. The Suguru I feared the most. The Suguru that I wish would turn back as I reached to him in my youth. But nonetheless the Suguru who I still ache for.

“I didn’t regret it. Only you.” he desperately professed as his fingers twitched at my skin. Seemingly wishing to touch more with the him of now and not the one from yesteryears. “I love you.” he said as he smiled from the bottom of his heart. “I still do and will continue to do so.” 

“Suguru.” Was all I could say. Not knowing what else to confess. 

I had been afraid to see the twenty-seven year old Geto Suguru till now. Too scared to confront the feelings that scattered on the lonely shore. Too scared that I would fall together with him too. I am too scared that my love is so deep that it will swallow everything in its path. But you’ve always known that, right? Of course you do. Cause you feel the same way too. 

Rubbing my eyes, tears still continued to fall. My snot also boldly joined along my skin. Mixing in with the currents under my lashes. It's so embarrassing to cry like this in front of Suguru but I can’t help it. Everything is too overwhelming and all I want is to be pampered in his loving arms. “Once again, you’re so insufferable and I love you so much.” 

Caressing my cheeks, he wiped my tears gently with his sleeves, even roughly getting rid of the sticky mucus that spilled out. He teased my whining. “You’ve only realized it now? You’re such a slow poke.” 

Ten years ago, he knew I would follow him to the ends of the earth. He knew we’ll both crash and burn. He knew it will be till death do us part. “But I didn’t want that to happen.” He said. “That would be too cruel even for me.” 

“You already are cruel, stupid.” Still sniffing away the sobs, I couldn’t help but retaliate the way I know how. 

“Oh? Says the girl, who’ll literally die for me.”

“Says the guy who already did, Dumbass.” 

Mouth forming into a thin line, Suguru sighed in defeat. “Touché.” 

Giggling childishly, even at that age he’s still the Suguru I love. The way his handsome face stayed the same, only this time more mature. His same old earrings are still there hanging tightly too and so are his stubborn bangs. Even when clothed in those sacred robes, it's undeniable that he’s still him. “My tall and very adorable dumbass.”

“Your tall and very adorable dumbass.”  He lovingly repeated back. 

Really, this is such a mess of a reunion. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Beep

Beep

Beep

Beep

Jolting back from my seat, I woke up from the sound of train doors signaling its final call for passengers. Hurriedly, my body moved towards it. Hoping to finally leave this place. The smell of sandalwood that once surrounded me fades gently through the air along with the cold harsh winter. In the next month spring will come and the Sakura trees will finally bloom. 

You really did meet your end in style. Fading like the last snow of winter. 

Farewell my beloved Suguru, I love you and happy birthday.

[found-wings]

what would etoiles have to do after taking down phil though because every scenario I'm thinking hurts me T-T

either I think that he'd knock him out and try to return him to his actual home (which adds in angst from other people seeing him) or of etoiles having to unwillingly give him back to the feds as they need to undo this to him. a weird secret third route though could be etoiles bringing him to people such as pac and mike to see if they can undo the effects the federation forced onto him in their own experiments- aaaaa who knows everything hurts so muchhhhh - 💿

What I love about this idea is that there is no way to avoid the angst in this scenario <33 KQVS

Etoiles would have to constantly ensure that Phil is either entirely knocked out or firmly tied up so he can‘t move at all when travelling back. The safest option would be the first; or a mix of both.

Imagine going the first route :

Taking Phil back to his home. As you already stated, it would mean that others could potentially see him - and even then, once upon returning back home, what would Etoiles even be able to do? He already knows that Phil doesn‘t - or rather can’t - listen to reason, he‘s entirely acting on feral instincts.

Etoiles would have to put Phil in a reinforced place that he can‘t escape while figuring out what to do with him.

So what about the second route?

This could potentially play together with the first route. I‘d personally think this would be Etoiles last plan and he‘d rather try everything else first before giving Phil to the Feds with his own hands.

Imagine the guilt he‘d hold if it came down to him having to return Phil to the place he‘s sworn he‘d protect Phil from.

Well.. the third route would be the next best thing, then.

It‘d definitely involve in sitting down together with a few other people and discussing the options they have. With returning Phil back to the home area in the first place and having to build a temporary, reinforced room for Phil to be stuck in, already grabbed quite a bit of attention of those aware.

Etoiles eventually speaks with Pac and Mike to see if they can help even the slightest bit, just- anything, even the slightest of help at getting back his Phil.

Imagine being Etoiles in this situation.

Having to not only fight one of your closest friends by then again, but having to force him in an enclosed space. Watch him act as if he was nothing but a feral animal - losing his basic sense of self, acting purely on instinct.

With the usual 'fixings' even when Phil lost parts of himself in the process, they could still talk, enjoy each other’s presence, find comfort within each other and much more - so this? This is something not even Etoiles can properly help with.

Imagine Pac and Mike agreeing, however needing Phil to be knocked out again on multiple occasions so they can slowly do some testing & similar to figure out their options, and figure out what the Feds have done in the first place. And Etoiles having to help keep Phil in a weakened state because he‘s best for tanking any attacks.

( even if Etoiles had the chance at someone else doing it, I don‘t think he‘d take it. This is his responsibility, he needs to ensure not only everyone elses safety during this but also Phils safety in the long run. )

[thunck]

Thinking about Silent Hill 1 & how it has a cool narrative/gameplay progression that 100% blew people's minds in 1999, and is fully capable of doing so in the year of our lord 202X. Spoilers for 25 year old PS1 game below the cut.

The way Midwich Elementary School reads as a "video game dungeon" with a boss at the end and everything, and then Alchemilla Hospital continues that theme until the end when there's just... not a boss? That's weird. Anyway on to the next area OH FUCK I'm in the otherworld ON THE FUCKING STREETS!!!

I found it really effective to play with player expectations like that. I mean, this is the fucking-with-you game, so it's possible to see it coming, but I did not. It really ramps up the tension right when you're starting to get comfortable (emergency hammer GOAT). You are no longer deliberately crossing the "fucked up shit" threshold in full knowledge that you will experience fucked up shit, from now on the otherworld is something that happens to you.

It also feels like a time constraints thing, like the mall was intended to be another big enclosed mazelike area but ended up just being the first stop on a mad dash through the hellish streets of Old Silent Hill. A rare case where the second half of a game being pared down actually made it more streamlined.

[kierancampire]

Will be interesting to see what it's like to play the game now! As yeah, besides a few collectables and such, then just the repeat quests and undiscovered rare/ultra rare dinos, I think I am done with the game now? Least I dunno if there is a quest after getting the parasaurolaphus?

I found some more rare dinos (once again more than shown here) I only took in the Galli and Allosaur. I actually saw a Shamrock T-Rex but I forgot about it before sleeping for the day :( Also, I was having an issue where my coelophysis kept going out of their pen, like, way worse than other dinos, I tried making their pen larger but suddenly it wouldn't count as a pen and it said they had no pen, even though all I did was slightly extend it and it was fully enclosed. So I moved it back to its original size, and this time it worked, issue is, it wasn't showing the pen as their pen, it was showing the entire ranch as their pen, so I think this is why they were never "in their pen" as the game just kept saying their pen isn't a pen, but the ranch was? So I then had to take down and remove their pen entirely, fully relocate them to a new area, then build a new pen there, as yeah, for some reason in this one specific location it wouldn't let me build a pen? Quite frustrating either way

But yeah, after dinner and stuff it'll be interesting to see how much longer the game grabs me, if at all, as as far as I am aware, getting the Paras was the big quest and then that's it! Oh, another weird thing, 2 actually. Firstly, when I brought the Paras back Lucky instantly got sad and wouldn't let me ride her, so I had to go see Owyn for ideas to cheer her up, but something that confuses me is an option was saying I can't find the other Paras, so that's why Lucky's sad? Even though she became sad IMMEDATELY after I put another Para in her pen? So I dunno if I was meant to get this quest earlier but it glitched in a way and it just forced me to take it at such a random point? But also, besides the Para, I also took in the Allo at the same time, this caused what I think may be two bugs? The first was Owyn and Mari came to freak out about my Allo, but for some reason all my dinos escaped their paddocks and were out in the ranch or each others paddocks when this happened? And I have no idea why? So I left then re-entered to hope this rest then all, which it did, but then my character had, what I assume was meant to be the dialogue play for when I took back my first Para, but yeah, I already placed it in a pen so he sorta was standing there talking to nothing?

[the-ravening]

You know I need to ask about Zemo/Torres, Secret Sugar Daddy because I also have a fic with a similar name and I want to know how close ours are to being the same fic because of FCCU chats 😂

We have definitely had this convo before, and our similarly named WIPs are 100% based on the same FCCU chats. If you ever get back into Zemo someday, I would totally love to write this fic together because it was a great idea.

For anyone else who’s wondering (and @zsparz you asked about this too, I’ll be answering yours next), this is a story where Torres is working with SBZ on missions, and picks up a daddy on a sugar baby app as his side hustle. He doesn’t know his sugar daddy’s real identity, and of course, it’s Zemo.

Here, have everything I've written, since it's not much.

Torres mentions to his daddy that his upcoming job is somewhere warm and the next gift he receives is a selection of skimpy speedos, which he makes good use of when their mission gives them the chance to turn one of Zemo’s fancy Mediterranean villas into their safehouse for a few weeks. The place is like something out of a travel guide, with its lush courtyards and outdoor patios and grape-trellis enclosed pool area. While they have a few days to kill, waiting for their contact and running remote surveillance, Zemo spends much of his time lounging poolside, wrapped in one of his many fine silk robes, fruity cocktail in hand, designer sunglasses perched on a slightly sunburned nose. He gives off the air of a man oblivious to his surroundings in his pampered state of leisure, but Torres gets the sense that behind his dark glasses, Zemo is watching him closely as he swims.

He should be weirded out by it. He should feel uneasy, left all alone out here to fend for himself against Sam and Bucky’s adopted terrorist. He knows what kind of man Zemo is, has read his files and details of all he’s done, has spent enough time with him on these missions to understand not to trust half the words that drip off his honeyed tongue. But the truth is, having the older man’s hungry gaze on him is a bit of a turn on. The intense midday sun glints on the water as he does lazy laps around the pool, and he can imagine how it must look rippling over the lean muscles of his back. As he pulls himself up onto the ledge after his swim, rivulets of it sluice down his chest, catching in the dips of his well-defined abs. He’s got a nice golden tan already, just from spending these first afternoons in the sun here, and he can feel Zemo’s eyes linger on him, running down his body appreciatively to settle at the telling bulge of his growing hard-on. It’s titillating having Zemo’s attention on him like this, and the tiny, form-fitting swim shorts don’t hide a thing. He lets Zemo get an eyeful as he slowly towels off, reveling in the thrill of being watched. Not one to miss an opportunity, he makes his way back to his room, still dripping wet and hard, to take some mirror selfies for his daddy in the ensuite bathroom. He’s well practiced at it by now, knows his best angles, turning just so into three-quarter profile to show off his tiny waist and clenching his muscles to get the desired definition. He squeezes a hand over his cock, gives it a few strokes over the speedo to get it nice and plump for the photo, and then snaps a few in quick succession, making sure to emphasize how well he fills out the tiny shorts. Choosing the best shot, admiring how the light and shadow plays over his golden skin, what a fucking meal he looks like with the thick head of his cock threatening to burst out from the waistband of his shorts sitting low on his hips, he sends it off to his daddy with a quick message consisting of a string of eggplant and sweat drop emojis. He doesn’t have to wait long before his phone dings with a reply. I knew you’d look delectable in them, his daddy writes. Stream for me now? Torres throws a glance out the window overlooking the pool to make sure Zemo’s still sitting out there on his lounger, and he is, right where Torres left him. Fortunately, the man seems completely engrossed with something on his phone, so Torres can be fairly certain he won’t be interrupted or overheard, can even make some extra noise while filming for his daddy. He starts up a video call and trails a hand down his chest, over the firm plane of his stomach, slowly inching it down to dip his fingers beneath the stretch of hot pink and neon green lycra where the hefty bulge of his cock is tenting the fabric…

And lest we forget, this is the Torres thirst trap selfie that inspired the fic:

[nukenai]

I've been thinking about my Trauma Shit lately so I'm just going to make a list of little things I do to help, day-to-day, with coping, and with the fear of repeat trauma. I don't know if these things will help anyone because of the specific things that happened to me, but maybe they'll give someone ideas. At the very least, I'm just venting about it.

I'll be discussing my trauma so warning for animal and human death if that's something you don't want to engage with.

Last year in February, I found my grandmother deceased in her bed on a Friday morning. I'd been living with her for 13 years for reference. It was an extremely awful thing, understandably! I had to call 911 and perform CPR (obviously to no avail). My sister has a literal job in crisis management so when I called her she was able to keep me pretty calm.

When my roommate moved in in July, he would sometimes wake up sort of late for work, which isn't a big deal for his job, but it would absolutely trigger my "someone is dead because they're not waking up" trauma. I told him about this, he agreed that if he's running late or hasn't come out of his room (he's often actually awake but still in bed), he would text me and let me know that he's awake, just running a little late for xyz reason. This has gotten much better so I don't always need it, but he still does it really often, and it's so appreciated.

In September, my brand new puppy Zero choked to death. tl;dr, I have my puppy Sammie now, and there's a lot of fear that the same thing will happen. He has real Puppy Brain about putting things in his mouth, and actually choked pretty bad on his food once, AND put something in his mouth outside a few weeks ago, then took off running with it and choked in the exact manner that Zero did. He was able to cough it out, probably because he's older than Zero was.

When my friend dogsat him for me, she said she put water in his food for her own peace of mind (because she obviously also knew what happened). I do this now. It helps him get more water too so he's not always chugging from his fountain.

I bought him a totally enclosed, soft mesh muzzle to wear outside. I used to take him out just on the leash, but I have a big fenced yard and he has tons of energy and wants to RUN. So with the muzzle, he can't get anything in his mouth, but can still explore and run around like he wants. It's been perfect even if he's frustrated and hates me for it lol. He's getting good with the "leave it" command inside, but outside, his brain turns off because there's too much to sniff.

The place Zero died was the kitchen, which was "luckily" a common area to walk through. I started cooking more and for the first few weeks, cleaned the spot on the floor where he died (there was blood) just to remind myself, it's not happening. The kitchen is a good place and this is just part of it.

Driving his body to the emergency vet at 2 in the morning, I put on music, but was afraid I would get negative associations. I only remember one song that played (Heartlines by Florence & the Machine) and it still makes me feel a bit awful. So whenever it comes on, I make sure to listen to it, especially if I'm out playing with Sammie. It reminds me that it's just a song, one I like quite a lot, and nothing bad is happening just because it's playing.

There's lots I can't do anything about, like seeing Samoyed puppies online, or people making "choked to death" jokes to refer to laughing hard (even I kind of try to do this to desensitize myself). Choking and CPR are still severe triggers for me. Every time Sammie coughs my world stops.

But I do what I can, I control the things I can control and change little things to adjust associations and reassure my brain that things are okay.

One random note. When Zero first died and I would tell people, so many people shared stories of tragically losing animals. Even very young animals. It's a horrible thing to happen and this sounds weird to say, but it was so deeply comforting, because when something like that happens to you, you feel like you're the only person in the world who could've fucked up so bad. Some of these losses were someone's "fault" (as in, they did something that led to an animal's death), and some weren't. But that doesn't matter because none of it was done on purpose.

My friends Kasey and Cindy lost their dog when she out of nowhere climbed their fence, something she'd never done before, and ran into the road and got hit. The woman who gave me Sammie had a friend who tripped on her brand her puppy and killed it. Her husband's horse dropped dead randomly in the yard when they ran to Tractor Supply for 20 minutes. My friend Jasmine from the old farm left her 11 week old puppy in the viewing room, and he got into the garbage, got his head stuck in a chip bag, and suffocated. The home for a puppy from a previous litter from Zero's breeder had a freak accident where their dog was 9 months old. She was on the leash and something scared her, and she jumped in the air, then hit the ground and her heart stopped. The woman who was supposed to take Sammie had her horse colic and die THAT MORNING, a DAY after Zero died.

Just absolute freak things. Even if they were someone's "fault", and they'll feel guilty for the rest of time (like I will), they weren't done on purpose. Everyone mentioned here meant the best for their animals and would never mean for this to happen. Of course not.

I talked for a good hour with the woman who gave me Sammie (he'd been bred by a friend of hers). We both had stories. When I told her what happened with Zero, she immediately told me so many times, "It's not your fault, honey. You didn't do it, it was a freak accident", and when I worried about the optics of getting a new puppy right away, "You can't worry about other people. You have to do what's right for you." When she handed me Sammie for the first time, she said "He already loves you!" because he was wiggling in my arms and licking my chin. He was just a bundle of joy that lifted my heart out of the depths.

Getting another dog was a challenge for my trauma, because what if it happened again? What if SOMETHING happened again? But it's all worth it. Because it hasn't. I'm working through it. It won't.

[mimikyu-mayhem]

I have a mimikyu that my aunt caught in an abandoned walreinmart in alola. It is a major asshat, but its friendship level is high enough for a ribbon, is it just Like This, are all mimikyus Like this, or is it stressed?

+ is it me or are people super weird about it unnecessarily? Like "does that bite" "keep it away from your younger cousins" and other such. Things. What's your mimikyu's personality like?

I’d probably have to have more info on your mimikyu and probably observe it in person to fully give a proper response, but I’ll try my best to help you out. Also, this got kinda long, so I’m sorry about that.

First of all, is it an asshat to you, or to other people and pokemon, or everyone in general? If it’s aggressive towards others, you definitely want to get that under control if possible, or take it to a specialist who knows how to deal with dangerous pokemon.

However, if it’s not causing anyone any harm and just does things that annoys you, it’s probably just your mimikyu’s personality. Many ghost types like to play harmless but often annoying pranks on their friends and family. If these pranks are a big issue for you, you should probably try to train your mimikyu to cut back on the pranks. Since its bond with you is very strong, it should listen.

It could be acting out due to stress, though. I’m not sure where that abandoned Walreinmart is, but if it’s in an area with a lot of predators, then your mimikyu could definitely still be upset from that, especially if it’s lived there its whole life. There could be other stressors in its life that I’m not aware of, though, that could be causing this. Either way, I’d suggest giving your mimikyu a small enclosed space that it can hide in (mine likes to hide behind a box I have underneath my bed). Mimikyus tend to live in small dens, so providing it with a small space in your home could provide it with a sense of comfort.

And no, not all mimikyus are like this. It’s an unfortunate stereotype that mimikyus are excessively violent pokemon. This stereotype partly comes from their ghost typing (which are commonly seen as malevolent) and partly from the fact that they lash out when someone tries to remove their disguise. The people who are acting weird about your mimikyu are likely only aware of misinformation and stereotypes about the species. People are definitely weird to me about my mimikyu (he’s often not allowed outside of his ball in stores or restaurants, even in pokemon-friendly ones, and when he is, I have to “keep a close eye on him”).

And to answer your final question, my mimikyu is actually quite docile. My parents got Geist (my mimikyu) for me from a breeder, because mimikyus born in captivity are generally better behaved and more friendly towards humans than wild ones. He’s not aggressive towards me or others at all, unless they threaten one of us. Although he does like to play pranks on me (he took my wet clothes out of the washing machine once and let them dry outside in the winter), sit on my head and chew on my hair for some reason, and steal my clothes to cut them up and sew things. Most of these behaviors can be annoying at times, but at the end of the day, he is a pokemon (and therefore a little menace), and none of his behavior really causes any harm (except to my clothes, rip my favorite sweater), so it’s really not a problem and is honestly a sign that he’s happy and healthy.

[noro-noro-noro]

had a dream heavily based off almost winning a lantern apostle victory & then going to jail after 5 hours despite having 16 cultists. i hate this stupid game why did I get hebe stanton from a piece of sh14 lore instead of an area that would've given me the rite intercalate. i had every ingredient. anyway what do i remember ...?

- being high up on the walls of a courtyard on a sunny day. it was a very large area enclosed and the walls might have been part of a larger castle.

- I was in a group of people. they were cards on the board and they were there with me out side of my elementary school. one guy had long & light purple hair ? by clicking on him he had some kind of special thing - rich heir maybe? weird family circumstance?

our event (?) here might've been cancelled, but i wanted to do mentor reading to the kids anyway, so we just walked in. it smellrd the same as it always did & made me feel really nostalgic. we were going to talk to the principal to make sure we were allowed to be in here, & asked the first teacher we saw where the principal was. out shopping, she said, and shrugged.

one of the others was reading something on the wall & it was supposed to be an area you draw & write about your friend. one of these hung up drawings and paragraphs had my name & a picture of ME !! i was so touched. I thought it might've been a kid from summer camp that I became friends with (i also recalled that the last time i worked at a summer camp was the year i started college, which was 7 years ago, so no child would be in elementary school postibg drawings remembering me unless they were a baby when i workd with thrm). anyway the others walked on but I wanted to take a picture but t ket ending up blurry. I asked purple hair guy to do it bc he was really tall but idk if It worked then either.

I ended up in the principal's office & was looking around at things I remembered. they'd replaced the ???? from my childhood memory with a pool table. but the double piano was still there. there was an older lady supervising me and said that I could touch the piano once and she wouldn't snitch (I remembered playing fur Elise on it as a kid) & I put down my handful of ??? on top of the piano. thry all immediately fell inside. the lady also immediately got worried that the owner would return and see us touching her stuff & hovered by the windows,.not helping me pick up my things.

- now much more flat based but way more fallen London themed as well. the cards of people were decreased. i could gain a power that would extend the period of time before a failed summon attacked and it was just a cropped panel of izutsumi. ordering purple hair guy to stqy out late on cult business introduced w new annoyance which was "strict family that I'd have to persuade".

i ended up finding tutorials on what to aim for on stackexchange for some godforsaken reason & they basically suggested I needed to perform ultimate summoning, hope the old winter woman wouldn't grab me and instead get one of my minions, & then "try to save him" aka mutilating his transformed and destroyed body until he looked like a cartoon green witch corpse. and with the corpse we ... ??? achieved. something.

unfortunately my brain reintroduced all the requirements of an apostle victory again so I was like damn now I have to prevent the green sun corpse from decaying into two raw prophets. and I ALSO need seven witnesses and the allure and the lantern ichor and frau schussel and

[that-dumbass-rabbit]

Ok so y'all missed a lot in Mirth cuz I didn't live blog while reading in class...I want all my stuff on here though cuz organizing and whatevs so here's everything I had to say that we missed in one mega post

"Does one go to Caliban for a judgement on Miranda?" (140) This is an allusion because no one in the book has these names, I have to search it up later, because im sure it's important (bring up in discussion)

On pg 155 (goes on for a couple pages) Trenor has this really weird tone shift from flirty to aggressive and I don't know why. I think it's jealous because apparently this whole time he's been into Lily but we didn't know that and neither did Lily until this page. He just starts acting super sus before revealing that he's really really mad at Lily for "toying with his feelings" but truly no one knew those feelings existed so how could anyone toy with them. (This is a good area to write about tension)

There's another allusion on pg 161, this time to Eumenides, I don't know what that is but I *think* it's mythology(???) this one is explained slightly more but I'm going to also have to look this one up (unless someone wants to be an ANGEL and give me the tldr in the comments but y'all don't have to do that)

Lily has a vision. Now that MUST be so important. It's of "Herself lying on a black walnut bed -- and the darkness would frighten her, and if she left the light burning the dreary details of the room would brand themselves forever on her brain" I don't think we can quite fully interpret this yet, but I will keep it in mind. Next time there's darkness or beds I'll try to remember this

"To a torn heart I comforted by human nearness a room may open almost human arms, and the being of whom has four walls mean more than any others, is, at such lows, expatriate everywhere" (162) honestly I'm just quoting this because I have no idea what it means. I read it three times and I still don't know what I'm trying to be told here. Someone explain this idk

Then the SYMBOLS WERE SYMBOLING. Lily went to go to Gerty. Lily doesn't like Gerty because her character represents the "ideal" woman, which Lily goes against as a character. But at this point, Lily goes crawling back to society's idea of what a woman should be like and what a woman should want. Because after the whole confrontation with Trenor, she is desperate.

Long quote but who cares "Her [Gerty Farish] visit to the Girls' Club had first brought her in contact with the dramatic contrasts of life. She has always accepted with philosophic calm the fact that such existences as hers were pedestaled on foundations of obscene humanity" (164) I just gotta think about this one. To me the first part means like Gerty is very different from the rest of the girls. (I know I know I'm so smart give me an award) which continues to support this idea that Gerty = society's idea of a proper woman. The others are all too "this" or too "that" but Gerty is small and quieter and more in the background, she wants to marry, she comes from some money but not as filthy rich as many of the other women. The 2nd half of this is interesting because it calls her out more as "ideal woman" because she's boring and basic to herself, but that's what society wants. She's being put on a pedestal. There's more in this paragraph so imma keep going. "The dreary limbo of dinginess lay all around and beneath that little illuminated circle in which all life reached its finest effervescence, as the mud and sleet from a winter night enclose a hot-house filled with tropical flowers" so the circle is literally the social circle/the circle all the women play cards at. If you're in that group, you know you're winning at life. Although there is a lot of drama that's the place to be. But Gerty is figuratively "out the window", and Lily is literally walking on the street outside. And I think the word "tropical" specifically is chosen because it adds to the fact that the people in that circle are mostly rich and beautiful.

Then some guy we've literally never heard (his name is Alstyre) of says this "in our imperfectly organized society there is no provision as yet for the woman who claims the privilege of marriage without assuming it's obligations" like I don't even know you get out of my book silly but I'll keep your quote ig you're saying things that I'm gonna keep track of but where have you been this whole time

Ok that's it you're all caught up now, long post ik but that's ok