#usually if i buy anything for them it's like a pack of paper and maybe some tape tbh but this year we are eschewing that

[syrupwit]

You ever look back on your past choices in horror? Like that year when I decided to use foam hearts from the craft store for my Valentines. The hell was I thinking. Worst texture, worst material!

[zephyrchama]

Hey! Uhhh, my birthday is in two days and most my friends don’t want to celebrate with me. So could I get some comfort for an MC who is sad their human world friends don’t wanna celebrate but has the brothers by their side? I’ve been reading your fics and headcanons the whole night yesterday and they’re really good!

(Thank you!! Hope I made it in time, and I hope it's okay if I changed things up a bit to be an MC who wasn't expecting any sort of celebration. Please have a lovely day! Happy Birthday!) (Anyone who reads this, please be sure to wish seerachii a happy birthday!)

Your alarm was beeping. Just like every other day, you raised an arm and fumbled around in the sheets until your hand made contact with the alarm, turned off the noise, and sighed into the pillow. Waking up in a realm where the day-night cycle doesn’t exist was tough. Your body had a hard time keeping track of its natural rhythm.

It was a normal day. You had homework to do and errands to run. You decided ten more minutes in bed couldn’t hurt, as a treat, and felt around one more for your D.D.D.

New messages from all of the stores you frequented appeared in your inbox overnight. Fifty percent off today only! Buy 5000 grim worth of product and get a free present! Stop by in person and show this message to get a free sample! That last one vaguely intrigued you. Maybe you would stop by after the errands were complete. The kitchen was running low on trash bags, you needed a new notebook after spilling some caustic potion on your old one during class, and Satan asked you to pick up a pack of dental floss when the opportunity arose.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed and over to the wardrobe. You wondered if it would be weird to dress a little fancier than normal, or if anyone would even notice.

Now that you were closer to the door, an odd sound caught your attention. Some kind of scuffling and movement on the other side of your bedroom door. Muffled voices. Your heart froze. Were you supposed to be on breakfast duty? Some of your housemates liked to be up early, and some of them got real cranky when their breakfast wasn’t prepared on time.

You hurried to put on whatever outfit was front and center before opening your door, expecting to see one or two grumpy demons waiting for their food. You were met with everybody, dressed in suits, in the midst of another sibling squabble. Things seemed tense and as soon as you opened the door, all of their attention turned towards you.

“You’re awake?” Beelzebub asked. “Good morning.”

This was a rare sight. Maybe your alarm clock was set to the wrong time and you woke up far later than usual. You rubbed an eye and opened your mouth to apologize for oversleeping but got cut off.

“Hold it! What in the three realms are you wearin’? You wore that same thing last week,” Mammon exclaimed, holding an arm out in front of the others as though holding them back.

Asmodeus shoved a decorative box overflowing with tissue paper into your hands. “Put this on! Go, go!” He nudged your back into your room, and they shut the door behind you.

What?

The muffled squabbling started back up. You heard Belphegor in particular complain, "I didn't get to say good morning."

"We'll do it properly the next time," Lucifer said, right before your attention was directed elsewhere.

Inside the box was a a stunning outfit. Far fancier than anything you thought of wearing that morning and custom-tailored exactly to your size. You admired it in the mirror, conflicted. This definitely seemed like a gift, but was it really? The material felt expensive. You didn't want to get your hopes up. It could be a coincidence, some new idea that Diavolo cooked up or an event you forgot to write on the calendar. But even if that were true, what a nice coincidence it was.

A hush fell over the brothers as you gripped the door handle. This was definitely weird. You swung the door open again and asked, "What's going on?"

"Happy Birthday!" a chorus of voices rang out. Some of them followed it up with "good morning!" Someone temporarily blinded you with a confetti popper.

"Sorry we forgot to say it before," Leviathan said, clapping.

Satan and Lucifer came forward to pick confetti and glitter out of your hair, congratulating you while Asmodeus fussed over your new outfit. "As I thought, it suits you! Hehe."

A mix of emotions welled up. Mostly shock. "You remembered? Or rather... you guys knew? I don't think I told you..."

"'course we knew!" Mammon boasted.

"Who do you take us for?" Belphegor took one of your hands while Beelzebub grabbed the other. They went ahead and intertwined their fingers with yours before anyone else could object.

"We have a lot planned for today, but first, was there anything on your schedule?" Satan asked. "I hope you didn't make too many plans."

"Yeah," you said truthfully, "if there's time I was going to pick up that floss and maybe some new stationary."

Asmodeus laughed and slid an arm around your shoulder. "Oh, you're so funny!"

"You can do that another day," Lucifer chuckled. "We have better things in store for you."

"I especially can't wait for dinner." "Beel, that's a surprise," Leviathan chided, poking the glutton in his side. "Oh, right. You didn't hear that."

They had a whole day of activities planned, just for you? You teared up a little. It was impossible to cover up with your hands being held, so you looked at the floor to try and collect yourself. Just for a moment.

Of course they noticed. Leviathan was alarmed and rushed to ask, "What's wrong?"

Lucifer's confidence wavered ever so slightly, a rare happenstance. He stepped forward with a worried expression and a handkerchief if you needed it.

"Mammon, what did you do?" Belphegor eyed his brother suspiciously.

"Why me? Nothin'!" he stammered, kneeling to get a better look at your face. "What's wrong, huh?"

These guys belonged to a big family. They might fight, but they always had each others backs and supported one another when the time came. You belonged to their big family. They might be overwhelming and needy, but they always had your back and supported you when the time came. You were an inseparable part of them. It was an inscrutable realization.

What was there to say? Thank you? That sounded far too simple to express the complex emotion pooling in your gut. You squeezed the hands that had reached out to you first. They squeezed back. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish on your birthday in the Devildom.

A wavering smile spread across your face. "I can't wait. What are we going to do?"

[ckret2]

On chapter 30 of The Writer Uses Misleading Graphics To Trick You Into Looking At This Fic About Human Bill Being The Shack's Prisoner: Summerween part 2! Bill wheedles Mabel into helping him make a costume. Mabel wheedles Bill into spilling some of his preciously-guarded secret backstory. Ford is kind of in awe.

Also there's like 4.5 drawings in this chapter. They're all very silly drawings.

####

Bill wouldn't tell Mabel what his costume was—"I want to see who can guess it"—but all it needed was a brown bedsheet, a long red wig, cardboard (to be drawn upon), and flip-flop sandals.

The bedsheet was the easiest to acquire. Dipper's barely-worn brown sandals were just slightly too big for Bill but Mabel helped tie them on with yarn. the shack's cardboard supplies were still depleted from making Bill's triangle mask, but they could make do with paper and popsicle sticks. Mabel didn't have a red wig but she did have a blonde wig and red markers. Since Bill was, by his own reporting, terrible at drawing, Mabel offered to do the fancy artwork if Bill did the tedious task of recoloring the wig. He claimed he'd feel like a mortician putting makeup on a car wreck victim, but nevertheless accepted the deal, and they settled in around the living room table to get to work.

"So just a bunch of houses, right?" Mabel asked, starting on the first drawing.

"Ancient Greek-looking houses," Bill said. "So, marble and columns. Don't think too hard about the details—this is a 21st century American costume holiday, not a historical reenactment. You can slap columns on anything and call it 'Greek' and every human in town will buy it."

"Do ancient Greek houses have chimneys?"

"No," Bill said. "But adding one would be funny."

Mabel considered that, weighed up the value of historical accuracy against entertainment value, and decided giving one house a chimney would be funny. She gave the whole house a thick black outline in marker, and pulled out crayons in black, white, and whale blue to quickly add some light shading to the marble. 

Mabel didn't think she'd ever seen Bill focus so hard or so quietly on anything the way he did on coloring that old wig red. He was giving it more attention than he did his own hair: while his golden locks were a tangled, uncombed, soggy mass shoved dismissively over his shoulders, he was dying the cheap wig (and his fingertips) strand by plastic strand with the bright-eyed morbid fascination of a third grader studying a pack of ants as they disassembled a bird's corpse.

This was the longest she'd been around Bill without conversation—usually, you couldn't even walk into a room without him immediately chattering at you like the motion-activated animatronics at the Summerween store. It was hard to think around him. Bill didn't give you room to think.

What did Mabel think about Bill?

He was right, she was still mad about the mall. No—mad wasn't the right word—mad was his word—she was scared. She'd never really stopped being scared of him, if she was honest with herself. But everything he'd done that day, from tricking her into trapping herself to reminding her of almost dying, had just reinforced why she should fear him.

But. She thought he felt bad about it. And she didn't think she'd ever seen him feel bad about anything before.

Maybe that meant her experiment was working. Maybe he was changing. Yeah, he was still scary—but he was Bill Cipher, he had a lot of scariness to work through. He was moving in the right direction, and she wanted to encourage that.

He hadn't apologized for the mall; but, since he'd tried to make up for it at the time, and that was a sort of apologetic action, Mabel decided she could tentatively forgive him for that day—provided he continued to improve. Put him on forgiveness probation. And that meant they were on friendly speaking terms again.

Which was good, because the quiet was starting to get uncomfortable. She surveyed her art for something they could talk about.

After a couple of as-historically-accurate-as-she-could-imagine houses, Mabel had started varying up the designs by redesigning houses she could remember off the top of her head with columns and white marble. She'd made a stately marble Mystery Shack, and a columned-covered doppelgänger of the house with the terraced yard across the street at home, and then she'd decided to make a Greek-ish version of her own home. "Hey Bill. Have you ever seen my house?"

"In person? No. But it came up from time to time in you kids' dreams, so whether I've seen it depends on how accurate you think your dreams are," he said. "It has less plants and more windows in your brother's dreams than in yours."

Mildly disturbing answer, but not disturbing in the direction she'd expected. "What! You mean you haven't haunted our neighborhood or anything? I don't believe it."

"Do you think I spend all my time stalking random humans? Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, seeing it in dreams isn't good enough!" Mabel pulled over a blank paper. It was hours until trick-or-treaters showed up, they had a little time to waste. "I'll draw it!"

"Wow, really?" Bill looked up from his wig. "You're not worried about letting the big bad triangle see your house?"

"Come on! You already know where I live, right?"

Bill immediately rattled off, "1337 Fairview Drive, Piedmont, California, on the northeast side of the street where it's less hilly."

"Exactly—you creep. So who cares if you know what it looks like, too?"

A square, sky blue house with two stories and a triangular roof; a big living room window on the left, a covered door on the right, three windows on the second floor, and a chimney. Mabel had drawn her home plenty of times—but doing it for a friend (?) was different from doing it for a teacher or a librarian, and she put extra effort into the rose bushes under the living room window. She added her and Dipper's smiling faces in the upstairs windows and Waddles's face downstairs in the living room.

"Waddles sleeps in the kitchen, but he basically owns half the yard to wallow in. This is my room, and here's Dipper's—I get three windows, but Dipper has the biggest window and a bigger room, so it's fair, no matter what he says—"

"Oh, you two have separate rooms now?" Bill was leaning halfway around the table and craning his neck to see the image right side up.

"Uh, yeah? Since we were ten?"

Loftily, Bill said, "I don't know how you'd expect me to know that. You both still dream about sharing a room."

Mabel paused and tried to remember how often she dreamed about Dipper in his new room. Sometimes she woke and was still disoriented to find her bed in the middle of the room instead of against one wall with Dipper's on the other side. "Huh."

She added a few more details—the front steps, the gate, the shingles. (Bill watched nervously as she pulled out the gray crayon to color the driveway—but she didn't notice how it had been tampered with.) She talked about her home, and in turn Bill told her��weird things, like that Dipper often dreamed of monsters coming out of the fridge. When she finished, she autographed her name with a star on the "i" in Pines, offered it over grandly, and said, "Here, you can keep this!"

Bill accepted it without the customary effusive gratitude with which one ought to accept a generously-gifted original artwork from a 13-year-old prodigy. "What am I gonna do with it?"

"That's your problem!"

"Fair enough!" He checked his leggings for pockets and, when he didn't find any, set the page on the table by his elbow. 

Offering accepted. As Bill resumed coloring his wig, Mabel picked up another piece of paper and got to work on the next columned house. "What does your house look like?"

Bill stopped dead, looked straight at her, and said, "My what?"

What was weird about the question? "Your house! Or whatever you lived in before you came here. You came from somewhere before you tried to invade Earth, right? You didn't just pop out of somebody's dream."

Bill laughed. "Yeah I did!"

"Bill."

"4500 years ago the construction workers of Egypt had a shared nightmare about the immense tombs they'd spent the last century building—"

"Biiiill."

"—and when they awoke they found the combined psychic energy of their terror had spawned a sleep paralysis demon more powerful than Ra! So then I ate their souls—"

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being so serious right now."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine! I get it. You're embarrassed." She shook her head and returned to coloring.

She felt the combined spiritual energy of hundreds of imaginary Egyptian construction workers beating down on her face from Bill's eye. Like a laser. "'Embarrassed'?"

"Because you don't have a house," Mabel said. "I think it's okay, you don't need to be embarrassed! I don't think you're a loser or anything. It's just kind of sad—"

Bill snatched up a blank piece of paper. "You want a house? Fine! I'll show you a house." He grabbed up an orange crayon, muttering, "It'll put your stupid overpriced shed in California to shame— Where's the ruler—?" Mabel tried not to grin.

For several minutes, he was perfectly silent. Mabel glanced over to see him coloring with three crayons at once, only for him to shove a hand in her face and snap, "No peeking."

Mabel got through two more drawings before Bill slapped down his paper over Mabel's. "There! How about that?!"

She looked at the drawing, which Bill had helpfully labeled "Party Central!" in red crayon. A great stone pyramid so dark brown it was nearly black, with bricks outlined in brilliant gold and molten orange and fiery red, and a sharp multicolored X hovering above it—

Mabel gave Bill a flat look. "This isn't your house, this is your Torture Temple."

"The what? Hey, is that really what people are calling it?! It's not the Torture Temple, it's the Fearamid!"

Despite herself, Mabel burst out laughing. "You named it the 'Fearamid'?!"

"It's a pyramid and humans fear it! It's genius. Portmanteaus make great names."

"What's a portmanteau."

"It's a word made from the unholy Frankensteinian fusion of two other words. Like getting 'electrocute' from 'electricity' and 'execute'!"

"Or 'romcom'?"

"Yeah, or that."

Mabel considered the drawing. "If you want to scare less people, you could call this your Bill-ding."

"HA! Oh, I'm saving that."

"Anyway, this isn't where you live," Mabel said. "You were there for like a week tops!"

"Yeah, before your great-uncle killed me. I'd still be living there if it weren't for you jerks." He stuck out his tongue.

"Come on, Bill. I showed you my house. Draw where you grew up or something!"

"What's wrong with the Fearamid?"

Mabel crossed her arms. "Why don't you want me to see your real house?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. "Eh, you know what? Why not. If you're gonna be so ridiculous about such a silly thing." He pulled over another piece of paper. "But if I don't have enough time to finish coloring this wig, you have to help me."

"Fiiine." She returned to her own drawings as Bill got back to work.

After a long silence—longer than he'd taken to draw and color the Fearamid—he said, "Okay, done. Here." And he pushed over the paper with one dismissive finger.

She eagerly accepted the drawing—and frowned. There was nothing on the page except for a straight flat black line, interrupted by three line segments of bright blue and a cluster of red and green dashes. "What is this?"

"Where I grew up," Bill said, innocently, already back to coloring the wig. Mabel could see his mischievous smirk. "As seen from the front. Just like your drawing of your house. So we're even now."

Mabel's brows furrowed as she stared at the page in confusion. "What...?"

"You do know I'm from the second dimension, right? A universe that's flat like a piece of paper. I figured Sixer would've told you all about it by now." Bill picked up the drawing and held it between his and Mabel's faces, so that, viewed from the edge, all Mabel could see of the paper was a thin flat line. "What do you think the second dimension looks like to somebody in the second dimension?"

Mabel took the paper back, looked at the underwhelming flat line representing the front of Bill's house, and said, "I hate you." 

"We had the prettiest roses in the park," Bill said, pointing at the red dashes. "Crayon really doesn't do them justice."

"Shut uppp."

Bill laughed at her; but then, to her surprise, he said, "Okay, all right, I guess a big fancy 3D creature like you can't understand the nuances of two-dimensional sight. So, here." He flipped over the page. "Top down view."

The back of the page had what looked like a floorplan. A narrow room on the left, a large L-shaped room, a tiny room nestled into the L's top right corner, and a medium room on the right. Little shapes filled the rooms—furniture of some kind?—but she didn't see anything immediately recognizable like a top-down bed or table and chairs. Green and red spirals dangled off the bottom of the floorplan.

"I'm no Edward Bishop Bishop, but it gets the idea across," Bill said.

She studied all the strange little figures in fascination, looking for anything familiar. She pointed at a few shallow bowls filled with blue sticking out of the wall between the L-shaped room and the tiny room. "Are these sinks?"

"Hey, you're pretty sharp. Sinks and the tub." 

"So the little room's the bathroom."

"Right again." Bill pointed out the rooms on the floor plan. "Master bed's on the right, kitchen and living room in the middle—and you found the bathroom—and second bed's on the left. That was my room! The one with a million books," he pointed at a wall with countless tiny multicolored lines coming off of it. "I was a big reader as a kid. I've always been an intellectual."

"Who was in the other bedroom?"

"I never really went in there, who cares." Bill made a dismissive gesture. "I think there were some desks and stuff in there too, but I didn't bother to draw them since I never used them." He picked up a yellow and a black crayon and added on to the drawing, dexterously turning the crayons in his hand to switch between colors without setting either one down. "I spent most of my time in my room." He'd drawn a little yellow triangle with an eye. He picked up a red crayon to point an arrow at the triangle and label it "Me!" "I didn't even have to leave the room to see the TV. The perks of psychic powers!"

Mabel wondered which of the weird shapes was the TV; but before she could come to a decision, she was distracted by the scale of Bill drawn in his room. Maybe he'd just drawn himself big, but he seemed cramped in that narrow space. And he'd hardly have room to turn around in the bathroom without his corner smacking something. "It looks pretty small. Is that normal on your home world?"

"Ah, I rarely spent time at home—it was just a place to sleep between speaking engagements," Bill said. "I was always on tour. Living the life of the rich and famous! Hotels, jet planes, and tour buses!"

Mabel shot him an irritated look. "You said this is where you grew up."

"This is where I grew up! I got an early start making my fortune. I was already famous by the time I was, uh..." he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Developmentally, I think I would've been about equivalent to your age. Maybe a bit younger."

How much of all this was true? It didn't feel like a lie—and she couldn't see how he'd benefit from lying about any of it, except maybe claiming to be famous. So it probably had to be true. He'd actually made her a drawing of his house. Even after he'd complained about being so bad at art. She beamed at him. "Thanks, Bill. Your weird alien house is neat! I like the squiggly spiral flowers! Are they actually roses?"

"They were the flower that everyone mentions in poetry and that you have to bring home when your wife is mad, so, same basic function as roses," Bill said. "Fun fact, they grow in spirals so that they're pretty on the outside, but—"

####

"—but have more surface area to absorb sunlight on the inside," Mabel said, pointing at the flowers. "Alien biology! And the orange things are couches and the colorful box in front of them is his TV, and Bill says he could watch TV through the wall but he never really liked TV, he preferred live performances—maybe we should take him to a musical! And the little sideways cushions on the walls are their beds because gravity goes to the left because their house faces east—I have no idea why!—so, I guess that's their 'floor'? But if that's the 'floor,' Bill didn't explain why all his books were on the 'ceiling' without them falling off, and..." Mabel trailed off, giving Ford a concerned look. "Grunkle Ford? Are you okay?"

He was gaping at the drawing. "Wh—? Yes. Sorry. I'm just..." He shook his head in amazement. "I never even got that slippery eel to admit he has a calendar system, and you got the blueprints to his childhood home?"

Dipper said, "Yeah, this is amazing. How did you get this out of him?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything special," Mabel said casually. "Just drew our house and then suggested he was too scared to let me see his."

Dipper grimaced. "You showed him our house?"

"Don't worry about it! He already knows where we live."

"Of course," Ford said, taking a quick note in his journal. "Exploiting his ego. He's very proud; undermine that pride and he'll feel compelled to defend his honor." Ford had started goading Bill into giving away more than he meant to the same way. He wished he'd started doing it far earlier; but he'd spent so many years foolishly assuming Bill's pride was objective and justified that he sometimes forgot what an egomaniac Bill really was.

As Mabel had spoken, Ford had filled several pages with bullet-pointed half thoughts: dodges questions about the master bed—his parents' room?; no bed or bedroom for a sibling, he seems like an only child; "speaking engagements" is probably a euphemism, what was he doing to become a child celebrity; were his books his only childhood possessions or just the only thing he valued enough to draw; did he gain his "psychic powers" while amassing the power he needed to "liberate"/destroy his dimension? "Can I borrow this drawing to make a photocopy?"

"Sure! Don't forget the line on the back," Mabel said. "And you can copy the Fearamid, too! Did you know he named it the 'Fearamid'?"

"Oh yeah, I heard him call it that," Dipper said. "I think I recorded it in Journal 3?"

"I should've read that before we threw out all of Grunkle Ford's Bill stuff," Mabel sighed. She slid over the Fearamid drawing to Ford. "Bwop! He drew it tilting all weird to the left? He wasn't kidding when he said he's bad at drawing."

Ford studied the drawing and frowned. He lay his pen on the drawing to use like a makeshift ruler. "It's not 'skewed'—he drew the front face as a perfect equilateral triangle, and then extended a side on the right to turn it into a pyramid. It's poor perspective—there's no point of view from which one side would look like a perfect equilateral triangle and you could see another side, but..." He trailed off again as he made a note to himself about what this might mean about Bill's ability to perceive the third dimension and his artistic sensibilities.

"So he draws like Picasso!" Mabel concluded. "Oh! Bill mentioned a name when he gave me his house, he said he wasn't like Edward Bishop Bishop—and I remembered it because it sounds funny. Bishop-Bishop. Maybe he's another artist Bill likes? Or somebody who makes blueprints?"

"I'm sure I've heard that name. I think he was a mathematician?" Ford frowned. "I can't recall, though." He wrote down another note: Edward Bishop Bishop – mathematician/artist? Something to look up later.

Dipper glanced back and forth between Ford and Mabel as they talked, feeling his stomach sink at how excited they were and how easily they got along. First the mysterious disappearing crystal shop in Portland, now Mabel made this huge discovery about the guy Ford had spent years trying to learn about... Dipper swallowed hard and tried to tell himself he shouldn't feel jealous after he'd gotten Ford to himself for basically the past year. "I can't believe you found out all this."

Mabel immediately looked at him. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Dipper winced. He'd realized a moment too late how he must have sounded. Quickly, he said, "I mean, it's great that you did! Finding out more information about him is great. But, like... investigating the paranormal is my thing. It's what I spent all last summer doing, and it's my dream job, and... and now, the biggest paranormal mystery in human history is in our house, and you're the one getting all the info out of him?"

"Well, yeah," Mabel said. "I'm our official Bill spy, remember? I'm the one who made friends with him."

"I know, I know." He shrugged jerkily. "I'm just... kind of disappointed that I'm not prying eons-old secrets out of an alien demon. You know?"

Ford had paused in his writing to listen to Dipper thoughtfully. "I understand. When you're exceptional at something, it can be... difficult to share the limelight," he said. "Not because you don't think anyone else deserves it. You just don't know if you'll ever get it back."

Dipper's face heated up—he didn't want Ford to think he was bad at sharing, of all things—but he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." Ford patted his shoulder understandingly. 

"Aww," Mabel said. "Didn't you say that if we're running an experiment on being nice to Bill, you want to be in the control group?" She punched his arm. "Welcome to the control, bro!"

"Ow!" Dipper rubbed his arm and laughed weakly. "Yeah, okay, you're right. This is what I get."

Mabel said, "You should try talking to Bill! Maybe he'll tell you stuff too. He's really easy to talk to as long as you don't mind him sometimes saying creepy nightmare things."

"And as long as you're prepared for his mental tricks," Ford said.

"Yeah! Grunkle Ford's got a whole class for that," Mabel said. "He'll teach you about the BITE model! It's how cults sink their teeth into you!"

Dipper chuckled. "Sure. Maybe I will. We're gonna be at home handing out candy for a few hours, maybe I'll find an opportunity to interrogate him."

"You're not going trick-or-treating?" Ford asked.

"No," Mabel said, with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

Dipper elbowed her for her theatrics; they'd already agreed on what they'd do tonight. "We've got plans with friends. But we do get to wear matching costumes again."

"Creepy ghost children!"

"Ah," Ford said. "That explains your..." He gestured at them. They were wearing a suit and a dress, old-fashioned and gray, with tattered hems and dusty black dress shoes.

"Barty helped us put the outfits together," Dipper said.

"We still need to do our makeup," Mabel said. "What about you, Grunkle Ford? What are you doing for Summerween?"

"Ah." He glanced toward the ceiling ruefully, as though he could see The Enemy in the shack through the many layers of dirt above. Summerween had been one of the things he'd missed most about Gravity Falls; even during his years as a reclusive scientist in the woods, he'd usually taken off Summerween and Halloween to hand out candy to the children bold enough to visit his house.

But Bill's eagerness to participate had sucked the fun out of the day. The thought of celebrating Summerween in the same house as Bill felt too much like celebrating with him. "Nothing, I suppose. I was planning to stay down here." He gestured at his desk. "Continue my research."

"What are you working on right now?" Dipper asked.

Ford quickly said, "Nothing. Just—the same research," and was immediately hit with a pang of guilt. Remember what happened last summer when you tried to keep secrets about Bill out of embarrassment? Reluctantly, he said, "I've... split some research duties with Fiddleford. While I'm waiting to hear back from him, I'm looking into—some magical knowledge Bill revealed. To determine how much of it's true."

Dipper looked puzzled. "Revealed when?"

Mabel slammed her hands on Ford's desk. "Grunkle Ford, you can take a break from gathering intel on the enemy for one day! It's Summerween! Promise me you'll do something to celebrate before the day's over."

Ford let out a huff, but smiled. He wanted to do something. Surely he could come up with something that would let him avoid Bill? "All right, I promise. I won't invoke the Trickster's wrath tonight. Could you leave your costume makeup in the bathroom when you're finished? I'll find something to do with it."

"Perfect!" Mabel hugged him; then grabbed Dipper's hand. "C'mon, let's finish getting dressed. The trick-or-treaters will be here any minute!"

"Okay, okay." Dipper waved at Ford as Mabel dragged him to the elevator.

When they were gone, Ford turned back to the papers Mabel had given him. Bill's childhood home... Assuming he wasn't lying, at least. But an entire blueprint seemed like a complicated spur-of-the-moment fabrication even for him. If Bill was lying, it was a lie close to the truth.

It was strange to imagine Bill as a child with a bedroom full of books. Strange to imagine Bill as a child at all. What did a young triangle look like? He couldn't imagine anything different from how Bill always looked.

The floorplan did look small. Smaller even than the apartment over the pawn shop had been. Ford tried to remember what the homes he'd seen in Exwhylia had looked like...

He raised his head as something the kids had said registered. "Barty? Who's Barty?"

####

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill inspected her box of crayons.

The wrapper around the gray crayon was coming loose.

He took the glue stick they'd been using to reinforce the paper houses with popsicle sticks and carefully stuck the wrapper back on.

The house was too quiet without anyone around to talk to. He hated the quiet.

From the corner of the living room behind the table, when Bill leaned on the wall, shut his eyes, and listened closely, he could faintly hear the hidden elevator. He headed upstairs to stow the drawing of Mabel's house somewhere safe, and then went to the downstairs bathroom to finish dressing for Summerween.

####

(Y'all I worked hard on those fake crayon drawings. Anyway I know we're all collectively going insane today over the book news but if you took time out of your day to read this, I'd love to hear what y'all think!)

[blackdollette]

I know you’re not really writing for Rory characters right now but if I could request a Clyde smut where he says “swallow, swallow” with the pill, but instead.. it’s his girlfriend or OOO maybe someone who buys stuff off him like weed, and she’s giving him head as payment but she’s got a textural problem so like, weird textures are icky, and he holds his hand over her mouth and says swallow? That may be weird, I dunno— if it is I’m so sorry 😭😭

anon you don't understand how much i've been thinking abt this ever since you sent this. i just 😩

"hand at the back of my neck." | clyde

national anthem. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999@livingdead-materialgirl @romanroyapoligist@auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly@imoonkiss @lankysimp@nom-nommmm1@xxbl00d-cl0txx@k1ll3rh0rr0r@wildathevrt@mommymilkers0526@greenxgloss

⊹₊⋆ pairing: dealer!clyde x female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 1.4k

⊹₊⋆ contents: drugs, blowjob, cum-eating, slight aftercare, fluffy if you squint

when it came to describing you, impulsive only covered the tip of the iceburg. the lines defining the story between you and clyde had gone blurry over the years but as far as you knew, he was basically the best thing that had ever happened to you. 

and both of you were fully aware of that.

your faintly shivering fist sheepishly knocked that familiar pattern on the door of his apartment room. the hallway outside of his room always smelled faintly of green and stale fast food. before you could bring your hand back to your side, the doorknob turned allowing the stained wooden door to creak open, bringing his warm, sleepy eyes and that smile into view.

“well, if it isn’t my favourite customer…” clyde flipped his hair out of his face, allowing his gaze to run up and down you shamelessly. “...you look good. as usual.”

he was shirtless, only clad in a pair of gray sweatpants that rode dangerously low on his hips. all need for formality had vanished the day you had experienced your first high right there in his “workshop”.

you smiled shyly, already feeling slightly light on your feet as the psychedelic aromas from inside wafted toward you. “hi clyde. sorry for showing up unannounced…” 

considering how quickly he opened the door and the lack of that lust-filled flush that covered his cheeks whenever he was getting some action, you could safely conclude that he was alone at the moment. but you felt the need to ask anyway.

“is now a good time? i can come back later if you’re busy…”

he let out a little breathless laugh, shaking his head and dislodging a few locks from behind his ear. “there’s no better time than now. c’mon in. i just got some new stuff shipped in that you’ll love.”

he snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his cozy apartment room and shutting the door behind you.

“you got your mind on anything specific today?” he asked as he ushered you to his overstuffed couch. you sat down, scanning the various piles of boxes with long medical names and numbers on them. 

you weren’t really the adventurous type when it came to drugs. you saw how badly it could screw someone’s life over, and you didn’t know if you had the willpower to “stop whenever you wanted to”. so a little marijuana had always seemed like the safest choice.

“just the usual please.” you watched as he playfully rolled his eyes at the predictability of your request.

“that’s my girl. i don’t even know why i wonder differently…” 

he dug through a large cardboard box, retrieving two dainty bags of weed and a pack of rolling paper. he wrapped them up nicely for you, knowing that the presentation meant everything to you. 

“alright, a bag of mary jane for the pretty lady.” he handed the goods to you, the smile on your face tugging at his heartstrings. “that’ll be $50.”

you hissed, the mention of the price nearly killing the mood.

“you know i’ve never had that kind of money on me, clyde. i’m barely making it by at the restaurant. i’m out looking for my third job this month.”

clyde tossed his hair out of his face, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “don’t think i don’t know that times are getting hard around these parts. you know people have hardly been buying from me these days…”

you nodded, a guilt-ridden expression on your face as you cleared your throat to propose a suggestion.

“i doubt all those used-up strippers that come around here have the money. how do they pay you? blood money?”

clyde laughs heartily. “the night usually ends in some cheap sex that i regret in the morning. but a deal is a deal. you thinking of spending the night with me to cover the fee?”

you shake your head. “it’s that time of the month. i know how you are around blood.”

clyde grimaces, nodding with a chuckle. “no kidding. but you might be onto something…”

you looked up at him from your position on the couch debating whether or not to make your proposal.

“...want a blowjob..?” 

clyde’s gaze snapped to your face, looking for any hint or humour or sarcasm in your question. but you were dead serious. he looked down, a grin playing at his lips. 

“well that sure would be one hell of a payment…”

you fidgeted with your thumbs. “so… do we have a deal..?”

he smiles, extending a hand to you. “indeed we do.”

he gave you a firm handshake, spinning you around and sitting down on the couch as you stood in front of him.

you slowly sank down to your knees, resting comfortably in between his partly spread legs. your gazes met briefly, yours eager and his desperate. his imprint pressed against the soft wool of his sweatpants, betraying how much he was trying to keep his composure.

you place your hands on his thighs, trailing them up until you reach the waistband. your fingers pried underneath the elastic, the feeling of your cold fingers against his skin making him shiver. it took a moment for you to navigate your way under you felt him against your palm. you pulled out his needy erection, the tip already red and angry with desire.

clyde let out a shaky exhale, tipping his head back as your soft hands massaged his girth and teased the tip. his hips rutted up into your grip, desperate for more contact.

 you swallowed hard, getting rid of the abundance of moisture in your mouth before slowly opening your jaw, your hot breath hitting the tip and you licked a long stripe up his cock. clyde groaned deeply, his hand finding the back of your head as the other went down to cup your cheek.

you began to take him in, inch by inch as you salivated around him. you went down until your chin touched his balls and your nose tapped at the base of his length. you held back a gag as the tip hit the back of your throat. once you were secure, you bobbed your head up and down, creating suction in your cheeks to maximize his pleasure.

clyde’s breathing grew laboured, a huge grin plastered on his face. “...oh man… you’re a natural, aren’t ya..?” your heart fluttered at his praise, urging you to go a little quicker.

your tongue flicked against his tip with practiced precision. 

clyde whimpered as his hips bucked upward, forcing his length into you and out just as quickly. “i-i don’t think i’m gonna last much longer…” he swallows hard, his voice coming out strained and breathy. “...hope you’re ready for a load…”

you fondled his balls with your hand, massaging hypontic patterns onto the soft flesh. the heat of your mouth, the feeling of your perfect touch, it was all doing things to his head. better than any drug around.

as his leg began to twitch and his breathing grew weary, he vigorously thrusted into your mouth as moans and dirty phrases spilled from his lips.

“...that’s it… i’m cummin’...”

before he could fully get his warning out, his seed spilled into your mouth. everytime you thought he was running empty, another load busted onto your tongue. you gagged, your eyes welling with tears as he panted heavily, pulling your mouth off his rod as he recollected himself.

his vision went hazy. “that… that was amazing…” he looked down as you, watching you struggle to swallow his excessive load.

he waited for you to get yourself steady, but it was almost as if your body was physically rejecting his cum. you gagged, a few drops spilling out of your mouth until he quickly held the bottom of your jaw. 

“hey, hey..! easy there… what’s wrong..?” he asked frantically. you couldn’t speak, but he got the message quickly. 

he tilted your head back gently. “there you go, sweetie… swallow, swallow. just like that…” he whispered, wiping away the stray drops as you finally managed to get the thick, salty solution down.

you panted heavily, gripping onto his thighs for support. “i did it…” you managed to gasp out as he gently held your face. 

clyde pushed his hair out of his face, helping you get back to your feet. he stood up as well, still reeling over the aftershocks of his orgasm. “well, a deal is a deal.” he picked up your bagged goods from the couch, tossing them to you. 

you murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ as he walked you to the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.

“it was a real pleasure doing business with you.”

author's note: this request took me wayyy too long :(( and how haven't I written for clyde since April?!

[gojofavho3]

Ngl, I was really horny and sleepy while doing this, AND ALSO there so little when it comes to toji x male reader, so why not doing it now?

Also English it's not my first language, and I'm not really the best writer, at least that's what I think but that is for you to judge

This story contains heavily smut, read at your own risk ‼️

A few months ago you let toji fushiguro live with you, He was going through some crises after his wife died, and he spent a lot of his money gambling after coming back for his old tendencies, so he was totally homeless. with that you let him and his son to live with you

You knew toji for a long time, 3-5 years, he usually would go to the bar you worked almost every night, and with time, you two got close

and it led you to where you are now

Legs spred wide, handcuffed with your hands attached to the headboard legs, d1ck overstimulated of coming so much in that night, blindfolded, Some headphones with loud music so you couldn't hear anything, his boxers in your mouth, why the boxers you said? Well because you don't have any gag, and I'm sure that guy wouldn't buy one

While toji is sitted on the chair Infront of the bed looking directly to your hole while smoking some cigarette that you had in the pack of cigarettes in the kitchen table

Staring especially in his cum that is leaving your pretty hole right now as it doing a mini pool on the bed sheets covering the blue sheets between your legs to white as your chest goes up and down like kenjaku jumping on itadori father

Toji gets up and walks slowly to you, butt naked, still with the cigarette in hand, as he takes the blindfold and headphones, Throwing them to the other side of the bed, you hear the headphones hitting on the wall

phumb!!

you can still some parts of the music because they're not so far away.

While your focus on that, toji is looking in your watery eyes as he bends over and gives a small kiss on the tears, as your attention is on him again, his hands travel over your body, turning you onto your stomach, Then grabbing your ass, spreading your butt cheeks with one hand looking at your asshole, as he sits on your back, you can feel his balls making contact with your upper part of your back

He rubbs it with his thumb open it a little more, he puts the cigarette on your hole. Your eyes wined as your feel you hole squeezing it, as you try to say something, but can't because of his boxers on your mouth

After a few seconds he takes it out, putting the cigarette on the ashtray in the headboard next to the bed, he slaps your ass lightly, starting to eat you out, you moan and whimper through the boxers, as he stays there eating you out for like .... 15? 20 minutes maybe? You cummed at least two times, in those two toji leaked all like it was cake

No matter how many time passed it or how many times you cummed, it looked like the clook didn't move not even a inche, you were tired but very satisfied

He finally stops, getting out of your back, taking the wet boxers out of your mouth as you give a loud breath trough your mouth

He goes to bathroom putting the boxers there and take paper to clean you off, as your conscious goes away closing your eyes as you feel the world doing spins, as you feel your arms free and toji cleaning you up

After some time he puts one of his shirts, like one of the 3 he has, and cleans boxers, as he puts you inside the covers, yes, he also cleaned the wet spots that you soiled with your juices, well, not only your juices

As toji still doesn't know much about pda, he didn't join you in bed, he just stared at your sleepy form for a bit with a slight smile, And then he went to the living room to think about the things watching some random shit

" hm... next time I should go rougher, this was just to experience, for now.. "

Well, and where was Megumi in all this? Don't worry, dear reader, somehow toji managed to convince Shiu to take care of him, after all, it wasn't the first time that it happened

I started this at 1:34

It's 4:25 am, I need to sleep so bad, I rushed a little at the end tbh

Well, till next time

[ubehalayas-blog]

Kenny!

Kenny x reader <3

Dating headcanons?

Kenny would do anything, I mean anything to just see you flustered.

He's usually the one that initiates any type of physical contact. He sees you in the hallway? you're going to get a back hug/hug or probably a kiss.

Kenny loves that he's the first of your everything, honestly he couldn't believe it at first but he loved it anyways.

He's a gentleman– listen to me, he probably is a pervert but bro respects you like you're a goddess.

Ah yes, body worship…

Whenever he's close to you, you always end up either in his lap or between his legs, SITTING DOWN. It's like.. You’re just sitting between his legs. 

He loves it so much when he sees your blushing face, if you cover your face whenever you're blushing, he will pull your hand away. He's strong.. that's what I'm saying.

His hand snaking to your waist probably is the thing you really love– (because I do) whenever he's close, he will always pull you by your waist! He wants you to come closer? his hand will wrap around your waist then he will pull you, he wants you to pay attention to him? no problem he will move his hand to your waist.

His love language is either gift giving and/ or physical touch.. he makes you stuff! he writes you letters, makes paper flowers, paper rings and everything.

in your first valentine together, he would give you paper flowers and asked you out to be his valentine, UM MAYBE LIKE:

your class finished but as soon as you pack up your stuff, you notice the crowd that formed outside the classroom. What the hell is it this time? you thought to yourself, walking towards the door, seeing Kenny. His hood is off, he has this dumb smile and his hand is tucked in his back, you stood still behind the door, having to process everything. He took a deep breath and walked towards you, the crowd shouting and cheering for him but you couldn't care less for them, your eyes focused only on Kenny. His dumb smile that showed his crooked teeth, you smiled and crossed your arms. He stretched his arm to you, you saw a boquet of paper flowers, your eyes widened as well as your mouth open, you looked at the boquet then to Kenny. "What?!–" you shouted, your hand falling to your mouth to cover it. The other teen smiled as he scratched the back of his neck. "Will you be my valentine.. y/n?" he asked, his eyes looking directly to yours. You smiled and nodded, "Hell yeah?! I will be your valentine forever Kenken” You jumped to him, your arms wrapped around his neck. His arm went to your back, hugging you tighter, "I'll buy you real roses, next time" he whispered to your ear, you chuckled in response, "dumbass, this is enough, you made so much effort, kenny.. I love it" you smiled, taking the boquet from him. Kenny's smile widened hearing you speak, he sighed contently then nodded, "Happy Valentines, y/n, I love you" 

anyways you don't really initiate any intimate physical affection so he does, he likes kissing you, a lot, most of your dates just end up to be a make out session… which honestly you don't complain.

This was supposed to be Kenny x easily flustered reader TOT

I am kind of convinced that you and Kenny's dates consist of cooking/baking dates… LIKE listen (I am desperately trying not to reference Atlas) you would invite him after classes to stay with you in your house then you two would just cook and bake.

Your parents were reluctant with you dating Kenny but since he cooked good food, they welcomed him with open arms, whenever he was around, your parents would always have ingredients lying around the fridge so he would have things to cook.

Kenny was a bit hesitant to let you meet his family but when you wanted to, he gladly took you to his house and introduced you to his parents and siblings. Let me tell you, his siblings loves you so much! They always wants you to be around, Karen definitely calls you with Kenny’s phone to invite you to play with them. Kevin? um.. he likes you too? but he was a bit hesitant/skeptical about you liking him because he didn’t get how and why you would like Kenny lol. 

Kevin always looks at you suspiciously, side eye for real.

That’s all I could think of lol

I LOVE HIS NAME?? KENNETH <3 

[solargeist]

does the end city in your au look different? i know you said they look almost like bird houses, but is there any major differences in appearance? or interior? do they have similar rooms to what humans have, or do they have different rooms that humans dont have? like.. would they even have kitchens, since they can just make food from nothing?

i am curious about any information about this

Okay so my mental architecture is really bad but yes the cities do look different and I’ll try to explain bc lord knows I cannot draw it

In Minecraft, it’s floating islands, with tall towers made of pale and purple stones, there’s usually only one or two towers per island, maybe a boat in the air. It’s pretty barren.

In my version…. The towers are like stacked birdhouses, big open windows above pointed in different directions, and mostly stone at the bottom. (Think maybe like the OSMP bar that Philza had built? Something easy to fly into?) Porches and balconies are important to them.

At the bottom, along the street, are markets, bars, whatever. What do angels even buy if they can conjure things? Well I think everything takes energy, so sometimes it’s easier to buy or trade, sometimes you don’t have the skills or imagination that others do, so they buy fabrics or paper, things like that.

These places were built with the mind of things in creative mode, by things that can fly or teleport, spawn and despawn things.

The edges of the islands I imagine are like balconies, there’s not bridges or anything connecting them to other islands/cities. You just fly.

Everything’s also big because They are big. The furniture is big, when Grian stands next to a table, it’s at his chest, he was already short before, but he has to really climb now. (His room is appropriately sized I imagine? Doors and windows big, but give the boy a chair his size y’know?)

I think they have normal rooms, nice wide open spaces, clutter tucked away into corners. I think they’re big fans of projects, so you’ll see blueprints or canvases around, left out bc everyone is nosy and likes to see.

They don’t really have living rooms that are couches and maybe a tv, their living space would be a dining hall ? Without the food part.

They live in like… Packs? Community? Instead of spaced single houses, I mean you each get your own space for storage or sleep whatever, but there’s shared areas, big open libraries, long tables. It’s how watchers see Grian so often, it’s like he’s a kid living on a college campus.

They have a kitchen, something like a kitchen? A place you can start a fire at least, but there’s not really a fridge or oven. Grians cooked over an open flame before, he enjoys it and it makes him feel normal.

I dunno abt plants or weather or things like that. I have not been to the End in minecraft in a million years 😭

[ssentimentals]

first crush {choi seungcheol}

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader

prompt: 'you should pay rent of how much you live in my head.'

warnings: none, it's pure fluff as usual

seungcheol is with his friends at starbucks and they are discussing something, but he’s not listening, not really; his whole attention is focused on you and when that happens, everything else kind of fades into the background for him. you are standing not far up the queue and he already knows you are going to order one cappuccino venti with a small smile and always, always a polite 'please' and 'thank you' on your lips. he already knows you are going to glance at the caramel waffles on the counter, bite your lip in a debate whether to buy them or not and for whatever reason you always decide against them despite your obvious desire and it makes seungcheol sad every single time. for the last two months he has to resist the urge to come up to you with whole pack of those waffles, the only thing that’s stopping him is that you two are… nothing, in reality. not friends or at least acquaintances, not enemies, not strangers - just two people who have decided to take Economy 101 and now are suffering the consequences of that action. 

seokmin, ever the gentle sunshine, nudges him with: 'some people find staring creepy, so maybe you can-'

'seok is trying to remind you that you have balls, so man up and make the first move,' jeonghan interrupts, grinning. 'we are not letting this one slide, my friend. it’s your first crush, after all!'

and that is exactly what makes everything bizarre for seungcheol - you are his first crush. he never understood what 'crush' even entails, because he never really found anyone particularly appealing or maybe he just never bothered with relationships being too focused on his studies; 'crush' never happened to him in that big sense, when one actually feels something close to the word that starts on 'L''. he did have his share of dates but nothing turned into something serious and no one stayed in his head the way you managed to do without even trying. seungcheol likes his routine and these unfamiliar feelings towards you were not part of it, which annoyed him at first but then he just accepted that thoughts about you became part of his day. his friends obviously noticed this change in him and got incredibly excited on the prospect of him finally having a crush on someone. ('it’s really not that big of a deal,' cheol tries to reason but they don’t even listen to him. 'you having a crush happens like once in a blue moon, of course it’s a big deal!'). so yes, he has a crush. he doesn’t really understand how others are not like him as well, because surely he can’t be the only one who notices how you stand out from the rest? it was intimidating at first but when he realized that you are single and no one is actively pursuing you, he relaxed and— did nothing. horrifyingly paralyzing fear of rejection stopped him from trying anything out (that one time when he came up to you with a question about upcoming exam does not count). which is also not seungcheol’s style, and it’s again unusual, unfamiliar, bizarre and oh god, he hates it. 

'seat next to her is the only empty one,' seokmin notices and seungcheol doesn’t miss him and jeonghan sharing a knowing look. 'um, i suddenly remembered-'

'don’t you fucking dare.' seungcheol grabs both of them by elbows but he’s not quick enough.

'we have to go, my mom’s friend’s fish was left unattended, you see?' jeonghan’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and he pats cheol’s back in a mock comfort. 'but you said it yourself, atmosphere here helps you to focus better and you have to finish that paper, right? so stay and me and seokmin have to go.' little shit grabs seokmin’s hand and pushes him towards the exit. 'and remember cheollie - you have balls!'

cheol glances at your direction and you look too engrossed in the book to notice anything else, so he's a little relieved on that one. he quickly orders his usual americano and with zero hesitation also grabs two packs of caramel waffles, ignoring how his heart decided to gallop out of his chest at this moment. every step towards your table feels like a battle within himself and by the time he reaches you, seungcheol is mentally exhausted and his brain turns into mush because when you look up, all that comes out from his mouth is a rather rude 'that's for you' followed by thrown waffles in your direction. he realizes what he's done only seconds after but it's already too late: you look startled in a very, very unpleasant way. shit.

'shit,' he vocalizes, making you look at him again. 'fuck- i'm sorry for throwing them at you, i was going to- that was very rude, wasn't?' you nod and he sighs, resisting the urge to bump his head at the table. 'i'm sorry, i didn't mean to do that. shit, i really wish i could control myself better around you.'

his mouth finally shuts up and after a minute of a charged silence, you gesture at the empty seat in front of you. 'you wanted to take that one?'

seungcheol mutely nods, unmoving. you are looking at him like he's weird and he is, that's the thing, but you were not supposed to learn that right away. he hesitantly pulls up the chair and as you don't protest, he equally hesitantly sits on it, pulling out his laptop from the backpack. 'i'm sorry again,' he mutters and carefully slides waffles towards you. 'these are for you. i'm seungcheol, by the way, in case-'

'i know your name,' you interrupt quietly, raising your eyebrow. 'we are together in Economy 101 class. we even talked once, i think.'

'we did.' he confirms and again taps on the waffles. 'i notic- i mean, anyway, these are for you.' when you look at him with a very obvious question, he adds: 'just thought you would like them, you know.'

'you bought these waffles because you thought i would like them?' you ask, puzzled.

seungcheol nods. you are silent again and honestly? he's on a low head start of just sprinting the fuck out of here, because this might be the most awkward and embarrassing interaction he ever had in whole life and-

'think of me a lot then, seungcheol?'

he looks up in shock. you don't look mad - there's humor in your eyes and question is asked in a more teasing manner than anything else. corners of your lips are turned upwards and it looks like you are trying your hardest not to smile widely. you sound confident but he sees light blush dusting your cheeks and you're not fooling him, you are nervous too. seungcheol sits back, smiling.

'you should pay rent of how much you live in my head.'

your eyes widen a little and you duck your head, making him grin widely. your shoulders shake with a quiet laughter and seungcheol's mission instantly becomes to get out of here and hear your loud laugh, be the reason of it. when you look up, you are smiling and he feel his heart thump loudly in his chest. ah, so this is what differentiates 'crush' from everyone else. you are smiling at him and just this gesture makes him happy, just this is enough.

'i can take payment in different ways, by the way. i'm flexible like that,' he says, grinning.

'oh really?' you ask, smiling as well. 'what are the ways of paying?'

'giving me your number is the one that i feel most inclined to at the moment.' he unlocks his phone and slides it towards you. 'rest can be discussed.'

he refuses to acknowledge how adrenaline practically pumps through his veins as you enter the digits. you give it back to him and he calls instantly, lightning up when your phone starts buzzing. you laugh, shaking your head in amusement: 'you thought i'd given you a fake number?'

he shrugs, smiling. 'it's always good to check.' he then looks down at another pack of waffles and slides them to you as well. 'these ones are for you too.'

your smile is sincere when you accept them and your quiet 'thank you' warms his heart. he's too excited to concentrate on any work right now, so he stands up, ready to share great news with his friends. 'i'll text you,' he promises, gathering his laptop. 'please reply to me.'

you laugh loudly at this and he smiles. mission completed. 'i will, i promise.' you say. 'see you, i guess?'

he nods. 'see you very soon,' he confirms and runs away with a light heart and a huge smile on his face.

a/n: ah it's almost Christmas! hopefully you are all in a good place and are enjoying it to the fullest <3 here is the link to my other works, check them out as well! - nini

tag list: @pearlygraysky @woozionascooter @smalliechelle @jaetaimjadore @yeow6n (let me know if you want to be added!)

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House, pt. 4 ("The Hand")

Sadara kept the corprus thing under wraps. She told Jiub--but no one else.

"Well if that doesn't suck shit I don't know what does," he said through the cigarette dangling from his lips, "You okay? Gonna need me to shank you before you go crazy? When did you get bitten, a couple days ago?"

"A few months, actually," she said, "That's the strange part, I haven't had any symptoms. Not a rash or a boil or anything."

There was a pause. He flicked the cigarette, opened the baggie before him, and set it on the table.

"You got the papers?"

"Do I have the papers..." Sadara scoffed. "With the week I've had I don't think I'll ever forget them again!"

She handed over the bag and Jiub set them out and started rolling their weed into joints.

"Makes me wonder why we ever decided to come here, y'know. We could be doing pretty good just killing cliffracers."

"Yeah, and sleeping outside and in all conditions...I don't want to do that again. Ever." Sadara sighed, and checked on the ash yam stew on the stove, giving it a few stirs before coming back. "Like it wasn't bad, and this time we were choosing to do it, but..."

"But you're sick of it and want a permanent roof over your head. Even if it's just this shithole."

"Exactly. See, you understand me so well."

It was a friendship that went back to when they were both young and hungry. Easier to be poor when you had someone to watch your back and help you out when you needed it. And though they'd parted a few times due to one thing or another, they usually ended up watching each other's back again. Sometimes people thought they were dating, and she'd asked him once, but Jiub didn't seem interested. Didn't like girls, but didn't seem to like guys, either...

He was always good to pretend he was her boyfriend to put off the creeps, though.

"Yeah, maybe I'm a bit tired of it too, I'll be honest...fighting and scraping and trying to heal up from all the fights with cliffracers...like...I can buy healing potions and all, but who's to say we don't get got by a pack of them at some point?"

"So we work at a restaurant where we only get shit from people on two legs."

It wasn't THAT bad, really. The corprus monsters left her alone now, and why that was she couldn't figure out. Maybe having it made them think of her as just another one of them?

There'd be time to debate over it. She'd just have to keep an eye on it, and pray it didn't get any worse than it already was.

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

"Hey, hey, Greg, how ya doing?" Jiub waved as the imperial walked through the door. "So you finally decided to join us in civilization?"

"Something like that," Greg laughed. He was a fairly jovial sort, and the one with a fairly large house (how he owned it inside the Ghostfence was a mystery to everyone) and thus the guy who held all the best house parties. To be friendly with him was always a good idea, even if they weren't entirely sure if he wasn't Sanguine's avatar or something. "You two gonna be free in two weeks? Say, Saturday?"

"What's happening saturday?"

"What d'you think's happening? We'll have ale and sujamma, but if you can bring a little green that'll be appreciated."

"Can't get ahold of any?" Sadara took his order for a waffle and some eggs and stayed at his table as Jiub went to work cooking. "Or you just want some to mellow out?"

"A little of both, it's been harder to get and Jiub's always had a way with the stuff. Oughta grow your own...or maybe you do already, in which case keep up the good work."

Sadara handed him the coffee and plate once Jiub was done cooking. "He's got a green thumb. Me...me, mine's pure black, inside and out. Except for that plant on the windowsill. The local cult leader seems to think I'm Nerevar returned because he was like that too."

"Is that so? Well, that guy's a bit isolated...he'll turn up to a party now and then, but mainly to--"

The door bell jingled and in walked a pair of ordinators. One of them same as Sadara had tossed out before, and she immediately tensed on sight of him.

"At least there's none of those things in here tonight," the mer said, "You'd probably welcome them with open arms."

She didn't respond.

Greg paid and left shortly afterwards, saying he'd give them specifics on when to turn up later. Sadara went over to the ordinators' table.

"And what will the two of you be having?"

The first one was muted, tired, and asked just for some sausage and eggs. The angry one glared up at her, "A Temple-fearing waitress would be a good thing to have, but obviously we're both out of luck now, aren't we?"

"To eat, sir." Her tone was icy, and she could see the temper broiling beneath the man's severe expression.

"Coffee, and eggs."

She took the order and walked back to her place. Shortly after, Ulen entered, and the ordinators tensed up.

"Ulen, it's good to see you again," Sadara said, "The sky looks like it's been threatening to rain all day, does that mean you expect to see..."

"Ah, not today, most likely," Ulen replied. "He has much to handle at home. Something has livened him up and we are all happier for it."

His gaze such as it was, turned to hers.

"YOU again," the ordinator snarled from the corner. When his food was ready a moment later, he was still seething. "I don't care if his money spends well, suppose the ordinators stopped coming here because you're obviously in with the Dagoths?"

"I'm not in with ANYONE," Sadara replied, "It's economics. They spend more than you anyway, it wouldn't be much of a loss."

"How DARE--"

"Can we not right now?" his partner said, "We're off duty, they're not violent, it's not worth the fight."

"The duty never ceases."

A groan.

Ulen didn't acknowledge them, and spoke instead to Sadara. "Your arm, it is healed?"

"Yes. Where did you--oh, right. He must've told you. Please tell me he doesn't have me watched."

"He DOES want to be sure his Nerevar doesn't come to harm."

"HIS Nerevar?" Sadara gave a laugh, and then not wanting to appear rude quickly added, "I'm sorry, it's just a ridiculous idea to me. Me, who's never been to Morrowind before the ship brought me here, and he thinks I'm the incarnate of Nerevar--"

"He thinks you're WHAT?"

The last sentence, spoken perhaps a bit too loud, had caught the ordinator's attention. He stood up so quickly his plate was turned over and clattered to the floor.

"The SHARMAT thinks you're Nerevar," the ordinator charged forward and grabbed her by the collar, "Now you've reached the point of outright heresy and that I CANNOT ignore."

"Get the fuck off me, you creep!" Sadara moved and kneed him in the crotch.

The ordinator let go, but slapped her with his right hand a moment later. "The Temple will know. And the Temple will do to you what they do to ALL those who think to call themselves Nerevarine!"

Sadara decked him then, and dragged him outside, hearing only a faint, "I tell him not to do this shit" from the ordinator's partner, who kept calmly drinking his coffee.

"I'm not Nerevar, but I'll damn sure kick your ass like I was!" She ducked a fireball from the ordinator and gave him another hit on the jaw. The fight that followed was confusing - she would recall afterwards getting cut by his blade, getting knocked in the head, sitting on his chest and punching his face bloody, but nothing more than that. What she did remember was going back inside to clean up.

Ulen came forward to heal the cut, and she thanked him. Gladly, the ordinator's partner left soon after, saying "he just gets like this" and both of them did not return to cause more trouble.

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

A few days later, Sadara's black eye had come in in full bloom, and she had to get a pair of shades to cover it up. The mail tracking app said the package was due to be delivered today, and she went out to the mailbox to check.

Except there wasn't one package, there was two. One was definitely the sunglasses marked "Tiber Mart", but the other was wrapped in postal paper, tied with twine, and marked only with "A Gift" in the most cursive, flourished, show-offy handwriting possible.

She brought them both inside, and after checking that the sunglasses covered up her black eye well enough she looked to the other box. A Gift. What in the hells?

Sadara pulled the end of the twine and tore off the paper. The box was neat and expensive looking, but the scent was horrendous, and for a minute she considered tossing it out. The ordinators might've sent her a stinkbomb, or something poisonous, maybe...

Against her better judgement she opened the lid.

And screamed.

There, within the box, was the bloody, rotten, bonemold gauntleted hand of an ordinator.

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (XVIII)

WC: 3.2k words Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Some hint of dom/sub tendencies, but that’s it. Vaginal fingering. Vaginal sex (P-in-V sex). Talks of protection and protected sex - do it like Steve and wrap it before you tap it. Dirty talking. Praising Kink.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Steve’s hand was comfortably set over your thigh as he drove away from the bar and back to your home. He was going to spend the night over at your place, and had already brought a lot of his things over considering how many of his weekends were spent there.

His mind was only focused enough on the road to drive. The way your warm skin felt under his fingers was making them tingle, making him eager to touch more of you, and the way you had looked at him the whole night was telling him that you were not interested in just sleeping once you two got to your home.

“Do you want to stop by the convenience store?” you asked just as he stopped at a red light.

Steve blinked away from his thoughts, briefly confused, and looked at his face.

“For condoms,” you added.

He opened his mouth, a little surprised, and then closed it. Two months in and he was a little surprised by your bluntness.

“Yes,” he confirmed, after a couple of seconds. “That’s a great idea.”

He drove up to the Seven Eleven and pulled up, clearing his throat before turning to you.

“Do you have anything against… anything?” he asked, knowing better than to leave it to chance. “Allergies, discomfort… Anything you actually want me to get?”

“No texture, please,” you told him. “And no fire and ice or anything that will make anything feel differently than the standard vaginal feeling.”

Steve nodded. Okay, yes. He wouldn’t want to introduce something out of the norm for himself so quickly, either.

“And latex?” he asked.

“No allergies,” you assured him. “Maybe get lubricant, just to make sure?”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and saw you doing the same with the corner of his eyes, leaving the car and quickly opening the door for you before you could, just smiling at your scowling face and taking your hand inside.

Even in his mid-thirties, Steve still couldn't help blushing as he strode into the little corridor with the condoms, and turned to you when you let his hand go and walked somewhere, picking up candy and smiling at him the moment your eyes crossed.

"Here," you offered him a little basket, putting your candy inside.

He chuckled, putting the pack of twelve inside and looking around for the lube before finding one he was familiar with - and latex-friendly - and getting to your side to get on the line, looking at your hand when you grabbed his again.

"I can schedule us appointments to get tested," you told him as you walked to the car. "If you want to, of course."

"Are you on the pill?" he asked, giving you the paper bag.

His heart raced a little bit as he started the car again, feeling a little expectant now.

"Oh, no," you shook your head. "I'm too forgetful. I have an IUD."

He nodded, a little more relieved. Yes, the IUD was much more reliable for someone with your habits.

"I got it first when I was 18, because my parents wanted to make sure I had a backup plan if the condoms failed. Of course, I got the first one out 5 years later and got a second one in, so this one is just... two years old?"

"If you were twenty-three, yes," he agreed.

You hummed a confirmation.

"I can get an ultrasound to show it to you," you told him, squeezing the hand he had on yours, and put it on your thigh again. "If you want to make sure."

"It's alright," he ran a thumb over your skin, feeling the soft fuzz of hair against his fingertips. "I believe in you."

The rest of the way was quiet, and while Steve was trying to keep his outside appearance calm and confident, he definitely raced to get to your building, making it in half the usual time and walking quickly to the lift, so you could just get there already.

To say he was a little eager was to be discreet about what he was feeling.

You took off your shoes the moment you got inside, opening the little pack and taking the candy from inside before placing the lube down and taking the condoms closer to your face, raising your eyebrows for a moment.

"52mm?" you looked at him, a little doubtful. "Are you sure?"

Steve's cheeks felt hot.

"Absolutely," he agreed.

You just hummed, placing it down and walking to the kitchen, and he scratched the back of his neck.

Steve was... on the thicker side, yes.

He picked up the pack and the lube and put them in his pocket, a little unsure, and sat on your couch, tapping his fingers while waiting for you.

The moment he saw you walking out, you were still chewing on something, and stopped midway through the living room, looking at his face.

"Are you okay?" you asked. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"I do," he assured you. "I want to."

You nodded and looked at your own bare feet for a moment, raising your face and looking at him before pushing the skirt of your dress up, keeping your eyes on his as you took off your underwear, raising your cottom panties like a little flag on your finger.

"I guess I won't need this," you smirked, walking to him.

Steve shook his head, lips curling in a grin, and pulled you by your waist to sit completely on his lap.

"You won't," he agreed, taking your lips in a kiss.

He kissed you hungrily, squeezing your body close, eager and hungry after so much teasing through the night.

You moved your hands up his shoulders, and his hair, and Steve hummed against your lips, trying to stop himself from moving too fast. He hadn't realised until now how eager he was, how hungry he’d been for you. The two of you were taking your time with everything - your relationship was going in a gentle pace, and you two were still stretching your limits to see what your boundaries would be, and sex wasn’t discussed until literally right now.

Not that he didn’t want it, cause he did. He really did want to do it.

But he wasn’t sure of how to approach it with you, probably because of his own internalise unsurenesss about having a disabled parter - something you were patiently helping him with.

The moment he pulled away from your lips to kiss your body, you arched your chest to him, and gasped softly when he touched your neck.

“Here?” he asked softly, nibbling his way up to your jawline.

“Yes,” you whined, squirming on his lips, nearly grinding against his cock.

He smiled, pressing the spot under your ear, and sucked on it when you whimpered.

“Here?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Your hands moved to your front, and Steve watched with the corner of his eye as you untied something at your side, and your dress became loose, and he had to stop himself from just pushing it out of the way.

“Steve,” you whined when he simply kissed onto your collarbone and moved to kiss the other side of your neck.

“You teased me the whole night, honey,” he moved his hand to your front, making little circles on your soft stomach. “Don’t you think I should have a chance to do that same to you?”

When he looked at your face, you were pouting adorably.

“No,” you decided.

He chuckled, kissing your pouty lips and touching the bottom of your bralette, teasing it as your fingers travelled up to his hair, and you pulled on it, making shivers travel up his spine, and heat to grow on every inch of his skin that you touched.

“But, Steve!” you pouted, reaching and trying to pull his hand up, struggling because of your dress.

He bit your lower lip gently, squeezing your middle, and smirked. So, so impatient.

“Now, now,” he kissed your chin, your neck and the space between your collarbones, nosing the vale between your breasts. “Patience is a virtue.”

Still, he moved his hands up and squeezed them, rubbing his thumb over where he supposed your nipples would be. Fuck, you had such beautiful tits.

“But I don’t like being patient,” you pulled on your dress, and he pulled his hands away, watching the fabric sliding off of your shoulders and pooling on your lap, exposing the last sheer piece that still covered you.

From this close, he could see every little detail of your tits, all the freckles, little veins and the colour of your nipples.

“So you are going to behave like a brat until I give you what you want?” he asked, unable to stop the little quip.

You fell inti silence, and Steve looked up at your face, worried that he had overstepped. Instead of finding you annoyed, however, you were flushed on the face, and shrugged while pouting.

“Maybe,” you decided, squirming and reaching for his hands, placing them on your tits again.

He scowled a little to himself, cock throbbing in his pants with the idea of punishing you for being so impatient. You were probably used to being given what you wanted… he really should teach you patience.

Steve hummed to himself, running his thumbs over your nipples, caressing them in soft circles and pinching them, earning a whine from you, and he kissed the middle of your chest before finally giving in to his urges and nibbling on your skin, and you arched yourself in his face’s direction, moving your hands to your back and taking the pice off already.

He chuckled.

“Aww,” he feigned disappointment. “I was having fun teasing you.”

You tossed your bralette over your shoulder and pulled what was left of your dress away from your bod, and smirked.

“Am I in trouble, professor?” you mocked.

Steve clenched his teeth, and his hands tingled to slap you right on the ass.

“Don’t make me spank you before we have discussed it.”

You giggled, and moved to kiss his lips again, and he finally decided to give up on teasing you, and pushed his hands up your body, squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples, pulling away from your lips to kiss them.

The moment he sucked on the bottom of your breast, nosing your nipple, you cried out, and arched your hips to, just as his hands skimmed down your stomach, slowly teasing your thigh and finally dipping his fingers into your cunt.

You were so wet that his fingers received an easy and snug welcome as he pushed two of them into you, curling them and using his fingertips to find the sweet spot inside.

“Steve,” you moaned.

“Here?” he spoke, almost teasingly.

You moaned, and he fucked you with his fingers, raising his thumb and rolling your clit with it.

“Yes,” you raised your hips. “There, Steve.”

Steve moved his lips to your nipples as he continued with his hand, sucking and biting until your nipple was hard and pebbled, and moved to your other breast to do the same thing.

He looked up at your face when you moaned a little louder, and kissed you when you reached for him again, noses bump and lips hovering over his.

“Right there,” you panted, fingers clenching on his shoulder, moving along with his touching.

He kissed your chin, watching your face, growing hungry. The way your lips were parted, and your eyes were closed, and the soft whines leaving your lips even when you weren’t actively moaning, were one of the hottest thing he had ever heard.

“Like this?” he asked, thumb a little firmer on your clit.

“Faster,” you moaned.

Steve complied, and smiled proudly to himself when you moaned a little louder, clenching your fingers on his shoulder and quivering as your walls squeezed his fingers, the sound of his fingers in your wetness driving him even madder.

“You’re gonna cum, pretty girl?” he whispered into your lips.

Your walls squeezed him tight, and he looked at your face, intrigued.

“You look so pretty like this,” he rubbed his nose against yours, earning a long moan from you. “Naked over me, all flushed, so confident, knowing what you want… so gorgeously perfect.”

Your moans increased, and he moved his free hand to your cunt, using it to play with your clit with a little more focused.

“Do you like it?” he fucked you faster. “When I tell you how pretty you are? How hot you look riding my fingers?”

You nodded.

“Yes, Steve,” you cried softly.

“Of course you do, baby,” he kissed your chin. “Cause you look so pretty when you are about to cum, my little doctor. Makes me want to throw you on the bed and make you cum again and again and again with my mouth on your pretty cunt.”

Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, and you moaned louder, reaching your orgasm on top of him.

You were still panting, and he was still fingering you when Steve felt your fingers undoing his belt, and raised his hips to let you take off his pants, and hummed when you pulled his cock from his pants, closing his eyes when you wrapped your fingers around it.

“Let’s get to the bed,” he pressed a little peck to your lips, taking his fingers from inside you.

You tightened your grip around his length before he could move much, and placed soft kisses on his neck, biting his earlobe gently.

“We can do it on the bed tomorrow,” you stroked him.

Steve’s exhaled, closing his eyes, and your fingers brushed against the head of his cock.

“Tomorrow?” he bit your lower lip.

You hummed positively, pressing soft pecks to his fingers.

“Tomorrow,” you promised him, reaching for his pocket. “Want you here…”

He took the condom pack from his pocket and looked down to watch you pulling one from inside with your free hand before giving it to him.

It took him quite a bit of concentrating and focusing his thoughts into the right place to break the foil package and a lot of willpower to wrap his fingers around your wrist to pull your hand away from his dick.

“I need to put the condom on,” he moaned as you dragged your touch all the way up to the top, stroking his cock head.

“Okay,” you mumbled.

Steve breathed in deep as he rolled the condom onto himself, feeling your lips kissing and sucking his neck, hungry and impatiently patient.

Your small hand moved to his balls, caressing them, and Steve couldn’t help the moan that left his lips.

“Y/N,” he closed his eyes.

“Are you done?” you asked, far too soft for someone who was working her full focus to drive him mad.

“Done,” he moved his hands to your hips, lifting you up. “You bratty minx.”

You giggled and reached for his cock again, stroking him.

“Do we need the lube?” you pressed his head to your folds.

You sank slowly onto his cock, pussy entrance slowly wrapping around his head.

“It’s always good,” he picked the bottle, pulling away and letting it dribble over the condom, feeling you spreading it for a moment before pushing his cock into your cunt again, and you sank a little more, moaning, wet cunt fitting around him in a snug grip.

You moaned against his ear, slowly sitting on his cock, and he turned his face, making you raise yours, and pressed a little kiss to your lips.

“Tell me how you feel,” he whispered.

You panted, sinking a little more and pulling your hips back.

“Feel good,” you whispered into his lips. “You’re big.”

He chuckled a bit.

“It’s not too much?” he caressed your thighs.

You shook your head.

“It’s good,” you moved back, starting to ride him. "So good." 

Slowly, through moans and kisses, Steve bottomed out inside you, thick cock welcomed by your warm and wet cunt, and helped you by holding your hips as you moved up and down, tits bouncing in front of his eyes, and he couldn’t help himself, sucking and biting on your nipples.

Soon enough, he was moaning along with you and throbbing inside you, with all the pent-up energy from being teased by you making his blood boil and his orgasm far too close.

Steve reached between your legs and rubbed your clit in circles, determined to bring another orgasm from you before letting himself over the edge, and closed his eyes when you let out a louder moan.

“Cum with me,” he requested, breathless, as you moved over him. “Wanna feel you before I do.”

You nodded, falling with your head on his shoulder and moaning against his skin.

It took you just a couple of minutes to start squeezing his cock and making the perfect little sounds he had been eager to hear. Finally, you cried out in pleasure, pussy squeezing his cock, and Steve let himself get over the edge then, milked by you.

You continued to ride him until he pulled you to press his lips to yours, and put your arms around his shoulders as he did. Steve kissed you passionately, slowly growing calmer and softer. By the time he pulled away from you, the two of you were breathing slowly just seated chest to chest, and you sighed when he moved his fingers to your hair, gently caressing the soft locks.

Slowly, he pulled his cock from inside you before he was soft, and you climbed off of his lap, resting your head on the seat as he stood up, taking off the condom and trying it up, giving your lips a peck before rushing out to the bathroom to discard it and clean himself quickly.

He had just opened the door when he glanced at your bedroom door, where you were standing and waiting for him.

“Bed now?” he asked, smiling a bit.

“Bed now,” you told him.

He watched his hand and walked inside, following you, and sat on the bed when you walked into your bathroom closing the door and leaving him on his own for a little over a minute, coming back quickly, and you sat naked by his side.

“And you are wearing jeans to bed?” you arched him an eyebrow.

Steve chuckled, standing up and taking off his shirt, tossing it on the bed and smirking when you picked it up and folded it, walking to the nearest chair and leaving it there. He took off his pants and gave them to you, waiting on his feet for you, and chuckled again when you reached into his pocket and placed the condoms on the bedside table before laying on the bed.

“Are you coming?” you asked.

Steve shook his head, but lied by your side, kissing your forehead before you moved to spoon him, embracing him from behind you and resting your head on his shoulder.

It had taken over 30 years to realise he liked being the little spoon, and you loved being the big spoon.

You two were, indeed, a good match.

“Good night,” he pulled your hand up, kissing your knuckles.

“Good night,” you whispered.

He relaxed, letting himself fall into sleep.

Yes, this was very nice.

. .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

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[thegrandlinesimp]

Pre time skip! Before Kid’s 21st.

Also I was looking up wax play candles and that's how I came across the one described in this chapter.

Yes, it exists.

Warnings: wax/pain play, paddling, blindfolding

Kid was no stranger to pain, he craved it in a way, not in the form of beatings from when he was a child or a kick in the nuts when he said the wrong thing to a barmaid with massive tits, but in the way only Killer knew how to give him. The sort that made his skin tingle from each strike, whether it was with a paddle, whip or Killer’s palm, the burning ache from the angry red lines left behind by rope, and the harsh tugs Killer gave his hair as he was pounded from behind.

So whenever he heard of a new kind of pain, one that didn’t involve anything drastic like needles, knife wounds or branding - things that Killer apparently liked the idea of but hated to inflict on the man he loved - Kid’s interest was piqued.

It was the first thing he and Killer usually did when arriving on a new island along the grandline, was find the nearest sex shop. A lot of the time the little villages didn’t have one, but the sprawling cities usually had a few. The amount of toys under the bed were steadily growing much to his delight, but he always wanted to grab new things, try new things.

They were also places where no one raised an eyebrow at the two of them, hell, they’d picked up a few gay guys at the shops for a fun night, even. Kid’s favourite one was from a older drag queen who approached him with a massive dildo as thick as his arm and said “I’d like someone to try my new purchase out on me, are you feeling lucky, young man?”

Kid’s reply of “only if you’ll take a threesome” as Killer approached them earned him a sparkle in the feminine man’s eyes and a grin as leachous as his own.

Yeah, sex shops were great, they were places of discovery and free of any inhibitions, a place where he felt comfortable giving even the slightest hint he loved to bottom, to submit to another man.

It was also - according to this particular shop - a place that stocked candles…

At first he thought they were for romantic lighting, isn’t that what candles are for when paired with sex? He picked up a large, bright pink one and sniffed it. It smelled like normal wax, none of that fancy, flowery shit. So maybe not for nice smells? He’d heard some scents acted like mild aphrodisiacs or something, this clearly wasn’t for that though. He walked alongside the shelf, curiously inspecting the candles. There was a pack of five thin ones, all different colours, ones as thick as his wrist, plain looking ones, and-

He snorted, biting his lip and clapping a hand over his mouth, struggling not to laugh. Last time he’d cackled in one of these shops he’d been kicked out.

The thing he was sniggering at? A rainbow striped candle roughly twice the length of his palm, in the perfect shape of a dick, balls included and the wick sticking out the slit of the cockhead.

Oh god, he needed this one just to laugh at, he wanted to wave it in Killer’s face so the two of them could cackle over it.

Kid quickly made the purchase while the blonde was perusing the selection of paddles, eyeing up one that had the word ‘slut’ indented in it so a mark would be left wherever it struck. The blonde decided to buy it in the end, after a little rubbing from Kid.

“We can try yours while we try mine,” he said with a grin.

“Oh?” Killer reached for Kid’s paper-bag clearly curious as he rarely bought anything without showing the blonde first, but it was briskly snatched away.

“Ah, ah,” he wagged a finger and smirked, “it’s a surprise.”

That night at the dinner table, he watched with silent amusement as the blonde wolfed down his pasta so fast he started to hiccup.

***

“Boom!” Kid shouted, tossing the thick, dick shaped candle onto the bed, “Now tell me that isn’t the dumbest thing y-“

“Oh, wax play!”

He paused, watching with great confusion as - instead of wheezing like he expected him to - Killer picked up the ‘candle’ and began to inspect it. He ran a thumb over a long bump Kid assumed was meant to be a very prominent vein.

Though the blonde did at least chuckle, “Trust you to get a rainbow dick one though.”

“Wax…wax play?” Kid muttered more to himself than to Killer.

The older man shivered, sucking in a sharp breath the way he did whenever his partner got curious about trying something new in the bedroom. Kid knew all too well Killer had some kind of virgin kink, though it only seemed to extend to him for some off reason, and reminding the blonde that he was Kid’s first in everything but kissing never failed to rile him up to near feral levels. Blue eyes glanced down at the candle, then back up at him, now filled with that dark hunger that made it Kid’s turn to shiver.

“It’s when you drip hot wax onto someone’s body,” Killer explained, “though this is from a sex shop, so I assume the wax won’t get hot enough to leave burn marks that’ll scar.”

“Will it still hurt though?” Kid asked, feeling that familiar tight heat begin coil in his gut.

“Oh, definitely.”

The young captain swallowed, cock beginning to swell with in the confines of his pants as he shifted where he stood.

One corner of those purple painted lips curved up ever so slightly, “Do you want to try?”

Kid immediately started stripping, throwing his coat across the room and kicking his boots off.

“Get the cuffs and blindfold out.”

He bit his lip, swallowing a needy sound, loving the way Killer’s voice dipped slightly, becoming that much firmer whenever he gave an order in the bedroom. Boxers still on, he kicked away his pants and dropped to his knees, pulling out the toy box from under the bed. His cheeks began to hurt from the giddy grin on his face as he fished out the requested items, the chain of the handcuffs rattling and making his heart stutter.

“Such a good, obedient boy,” Kid’s breath hitched at the slow, lustful drawl of Killer’s voice.

He looked back up at the blonde, cock swelling to full mast at the sight of him undoing the last of his shirt buttons, the button up now handing loosely from his elbows to reveal those thick biceps that could crush a man’s skull, or easily pin Kid to the bed.

Killer’s smirk widened, eyes darting to the railing of the bed’s headboard, “On your back, and cuff yourself.”

Fuck.

Kid knew this one, he cuffed one wrist first before laying back on bed, raising both arms he threaded the other half behind a rail. Using the cuffed hand to keep the device steady, he slid his free wrist into past the single strand and rested it against the double strand of the cuffs. He pushed single strand against the neighbouring rail, forcing it closed around his wrist. Thanks to his magnetic abilities, he was never truly trapped in the cuffs, and Killer was well aware of that too. It was almost calming for Kid, his wrists bound, surrounded by metal yet always having the option to break free with one outward pulse of his power.

Kid looked at Killer and grinned, feeling rather pleased with himself. There was that smile on Killer’s face, the one the older man hated to show the world, spread wide with sadistic delight as his eyes roved the redhead’s near naked body, his own still fully clothed save for his unbuttoned shirt that he’d shifted back into his shoulders.

“Someone’s eager,” he said with a dark chuckle, one that never failed to make Kid’s length throb with fearful excitement.

Killer crawled across the bed to straddle his lap, licking his lips as he eyed the pale expanse of the young captain’s torso. He picked up the discarded blindfold, twirling it around his index finger as he smirked down at Kid.

“Comfortable?”

Kid shifted a bit, letting his shoulders relax, knowing all too well they’d be aching in the end no matter the position he was in. But after all was said and done, Killer always soothed those deep aches, taking him into the shower - even if he had to carry the redhead - and ending the night with Kid swaddled in the warm embrace of Killer’s arms. Before that though, was the clawing climb to euphoria, the bliss filled journey to completion, riddled with pain and pleasure that twisted and melded into ecstasy.

An achy, stiff shoulder or two was more than worth it.

“‘M good,” his voice shook in a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Gentle fingers brushed scarlet locks from his forehead, “Good boy. Safeword?”

That made Kid want to roll his eyes, but it was always something the other man insisted on, especially whenever they did something new and even the tiniest bit dangerous, “Marine.”

“And what do you say when I ask for a colour?”

This time he sighed, giving a little rock of his hips to rub his cock up against the inside of his boxers to relieve some of the pressure, “Green to keep going, yellow for a breather and red to stop.”

Killer leaned down, a soft smile on his purple painted lips as they brushed against Kid’s crimson ones, “Perfect.”

Kid shivered as the blindfold was placed over his eyes, the elastic band pulled over his head and flattening some of his wild hair down. He flinched slightly, breath hitching at the unfamiliar sound of a match being lit in the otherwise silent room. The blindfold was quite thick, meaning he didn’t know where Killer put the candle, only knowing it had been lit by the sound of the match being blown out. A faint sensation of nerves began to coil in his gut, body quivering in anticipation and a grin spreading across his face.

There was a soft thump of the candle being placed on the bedside table and warm, calloused hands came to rest on his waist. Kid hummed, lifting his hips, expecting his boxers to be pulled off.

Killer chuckled, most likely amused at his eagerness, “Not yet, just a little worried about any hot wax hitting your bare skin there.”

He lowered his hips and pouted, but said nothing, the reasoning sound enough to not warrant a lash of his bratty tongue. Instead, he concentrated on the feeling of those familiar hands caressing his body, mapping out the muscles of his abdomen before slowly making their way to his chest. Fingers pinched quick and tight on his nipples making Kid hiss, head sinking back into the pillow as he arched towards those calloused hands. Killer rolled the sensitive nubs between his fingers and his cock throbbed, hips bucking up against the blonde’s crotch, the heavy bulge in his boxers rubbing against the growing one in Killer’s pants.

“Fuck,” Kid sighed as the man let go, leaving a stinging ache behind, hands running back down his body, skin tingling in their wake.

“Colour?”

“Bright fucking green,” he said with a smirk.

“Good boy,” Killer purred, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his collarbone, “gonna just test the wax, I’ll put some on my finger and rub it in your skin, see how it feels.”

“‘Kay,” he bit his lip and shivered, tensing slightly at the prospect of what was to come.

There was a grunt from the other man, followed by a huff, “Oh yeah, it’s hot alright.”

His body trembled with excitement, relaxing on habit, knowing the pain wouldn’t be as intense if he did but also knowing Killer was being cautious. If he didn’t show any sign of pain at first then he’d be treated rougher, just how he wanted.

A wax covered fingertip traced under his right pec, heat blossomed across his skin, nothing like a strong slap or the harsh ache of rope. He gave a stuttered gasp, cock throbbing at the foreign sensation.

“Green,” he managed to huff out, already knowing what Killer was going to say.

Though that earned him a harsh tug of his hair, the feeling rolling down his spine and making him groan.

“You speak when you’re spoken to,” the blonde growled, breath hot on his face.

If he leaned up he could kiss his partner.

Instead, he took the option that he knew would get more hot wax on his body; he ducked his head so his chin touched his collarbone and hunched his shoulders as best as he could, “Sorry, sir,” Kid all but purred.

He heard Killer suck in a sharp breath, those finger tightened in his hair as the older man shivered on his lap, “Such a tease.”

Without warning a thin line of wax was dripped across his torso, the warm, sharp pain making him cry out as he bucked beneath the blonde. His head rolled to the side as he panted, light beads of sweat already forming on his forehead.

“For that, you’re either going to come from the wax,” there was a powerful slap on his stomach, and Kid yelped, precome leaking out his cock and staining his boxers from the delightful sting, “or the paddle.”

As much as Kid loved the night, the next morning he had to wear a shirt, blushing when Wire asked about the wardrobe change. He silently ate breakfast while Killer sat next to him, using an index finger to continuously write the word ‘slut’ on his thigh under the table.

They ended up in a wrestle for dominance that night, one he lost the moment Killer pulled his hair and whispered filthy promises in his ear.

The candle was - of course - bought out again.

[kanerallels]

bessxhenry and i must know how you'd coffee shop them. (also have you written any other fic for them???)

Oh you have no idea how many different ideas I just cycled through before finally landing on this one I'm still not totally sold on it but I feel like I'm never totally happy with the M Sec stuff I write. I feel like I have a hard time getting Bess's voice right

But in answer to your question yes! I have! I wrote one Christmas drabble for them last year, and I have an unpublished fic about them and Stevie where I basically went "what if they interacted with one of my blorbos?" and didn't wait for an answer. Anyways, without further ado! My much longer than planned ficlet, beneath the cut

The clatter of pans in the background tugged Elizabeth’s attention away from the paper she was writing for what had to be the hundredth time, and she winced. Usually, this off the beaten track coffee shop was less busy at this time of day, leaving her in peace to finish her schoolwork.

But today, it was packed. Every table was full, and there was a long line stretching back from the counter. Things weren’t going to be getting any more peaceful any time soon.

Closing her laptop, she slid it into her bag. It was probably time to head back to her dorm room and see if she could get anything done there. The day had been enough of a loss already.

She grabbed her cup of coffee, which had long since gone cold, and moved to her feet. Elizabeth took one step towards the trash can— and immediately crashed into one of the other customers.

The coffee slipped from her hand, splashing across the front of the man’s shirt, and Elizabeth let out an involuntary gasp. “Oh my— I’m so sorry!”

Hastily, she grabbed some of the paper napkins from her table, apologizing as she did so. “I didn’t see you coming— it’s so crowded in here and loud and I was just leaving—”

“It’s okay,” the man assured her, offering her a smile as he accepted the napkins from her. Despite herself, Elizabeth found herself giving him a quick onceover. With dark hair and warm brown eyes that reflected his friendly smile, he was… definitely not unattractive. 

“It was my fault, anyways— I was distracted, wasn’t looking where I was going,” he continued apologetically. “The least I can do is buy you a new coffee.”

That made Elizabeth’s eyebrow shoot up. “I’m the one who dumped a drink all over you. If anything, I should be offering to buy your coffee.”

“Well, if you’re offering,” the man said with a half-grin. “But it’s not exactly good manners to tell someone to buy you a coffee. This gets the job done a lot better.”

Oh, so that’s what’s going on. Giving him a polite smile that, with any luck, communicated a polite disinterest, Elizabeth said, “I was actually just on my way out, I have some studying to do. I appreciate the offer, though.”

He accepted that with a nod. “Sure. You’re at UVA, too, right?”

“I am,” Elizabeth said, and the man smiled.

“Thought I recognized you. I’m Henry.”

“Elizabeth,” she said, casting a quick glance towards the door. Henry seemed to get the point.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Elizabeth,” he said, giving her a final easy smile before joining the line for coffee. 

Despite her insistence that she had to leave, Elizabeth lingered just another second to watch him chat with the cashier, wearing that smile, warm as the sun. Interesting, she thought, and almost found herself hoping they did meet again.

However, it was unlikely— she had school to focus on, not a social life. And she wasn’t about to keep pining away for a boy she’d just met that day.

She headed for the door, and had almost made it to the door when she shot a last look over her shoulder. To her surprise, Henry met her eyes, and lifted his coffee towards her in a quick salute. Sending him a quick smile and a nod, Elizabeth pushed open the door. Focus, she scolded herself. She had work ahead of her that was bigger than some boy with a nice smile.

[dyrewrites]

hey! this is chance & here’s the prompt for week 6. what are your oc's bedrooms like? messy? neat? carefully designed? or a collection of their favorite things? you can verbally describe or use photos, whatever you think is best.

Oh ho ho. This is a fun question. I like this question.

I am going to answer with all of them, so you have been warned.

Pale Blood;

Delmas' room is better kept than the rest of his apartment, usually. It's cramped but not cluttered with anything but furniture and though his bed is never made, he hangs or folds all of his clothes and never eats in there so there's rarely a mess. He has a tall dresser, a king size four-post bed and a night-stand that just barely fits beside it. All of the furniture is heavily scuffed and scratched. However, it is all real wood, all very old pieces carved and shaped by artisans with exquisite details...and his sheets and blankets belong in a museum. As does the ridiculous rug that takes up most of the room, is too round and wide to be in such a small space, and does not appear to have ever been dusted. It looks like he robbed a wealthy aristocrat from a bygone era and then tried to fit all of their things into a tuna can. Odea's bedroom is a mess. All of the time. Her bed is never made, her clothes stay where she throws them, she rarely does laundry or folds anything and she converted her closet into a small lab so there's no clothing in there. If not for the clothes, there's be massive stuffed animals and holos of cutesy characters strewn everywhere - that she buys whenever she is sad. Her bed is hidden most of the time by clothes or animals, but if it weren't one would see that it is shaped a bit like an egg. It is softly lit inside and she has a dresser and side-table that sort of match, though the table looks more like a mushroom and tends to be covered in whatever empty takeout boxes she had the days before. She's also carpeted the room, the only one in the apartment to have carpeting (and she'd get in trouble if the landlord found out she did it), it is obscenely fluffy and light gray in color and she hasn't seen it in months. Everything in her room is lit, in some way, all voice activated. She does not like being in the dark. Ron doesn't sleep, but he has a special room of his own in the bloodbank that is just big enough for maybe two adults and a small child (or tiny woman) to stand in. It is a mess of clutter, with old paper and leather books stacked in piles everywhere and on the shelves pressed against and climbing to the top of the tight walls. There's a couch and a desk in there as well, the couch is stuffed and comfortable (but short) and the desk is a thin number that could have been a foldout table once. He treasures this space. It is lit mostly by the rather dated device on his desk, which also happens to be the main network hub of the bloodbank. But he also has a little reading lamp that no one under thirty would recognize, and even they might call it vintage. Den shares a room with his sister, because his mother took his when she discovered he wasn't going to meet a nice girl and settle down to make some puppies. He sleeps on what could be considered a beanbag bed, if one squinted. It is made of rat-fur and full of the stuffing of old pillows. His sister gave him a blanket, that she made herself from his old clothes that he'd grown out of - she also lets him sleep in her very large and very new "princess" bed (as she calls it) when he comes home at odd hours and is too tired to play. Their mother throws nothing away and only buys what is absolutely needed, or what might motivate her pups to do what she wants. Luckily, Den has found ways of earning his own money outside the pack so he has clothing...but bedroom stuff is something he doesn't care for. He rarely sleeps there anyway.

Aha, bet you thought I was done.

Nope, Weald and Wen now!;

Mitra sleeps on a shelf in her brother's workshop, mostly. He carved it special just for her, even decorated it with things she likes (shiny things he finds in the pockets of his meals). It looks less like a room and more like a cross section of a geode, as she sleeps in her hair and doesn't wear clothes or have need of a light most of the time (she is a light). But it's made of the same stuff she is and so it's a good place to rest and heal when she's heavily damaged (which she often is). Parnamyr does not sleep but he has many lavishly decorated bedrooms in his tower full of curated items specific to the varying species of creatures found in the Weald and Wen that he has had the pleasure of...hosting. Occasionally, he does need to recharge, and he does so in a bare room at the top of his tower. It is lined with thickly tinted windows and rests just above the treeline, so that he might see the Lady's Heart glaring in the sky above. He either sits in the center of this rounded room or stands with what little bark he has left pressed against the glass. Delgrij's room is a full level of his nest, it is wide and elaborately decorated but most of the decor is kept close to or inside the walls, to allow room for the broodmother (as all nests must have room for her visits). The walls are carved in symbols and shapes meaningful only to him, with inlaid drawers filled with folded clothes and shelves stuffed with figures he carved himself (or were carved for him) and large tomes he wrote himself (or personally knows who did). He does not have a bed, but there is a shelf by a large oval window decorated with pillows that he used to fall asleep on. When he sleeps on purpose, he does so all wrapped up in the fleshy wings hidden under his arms...while upside down on a tall, gnarled post that he grips with the malleable roots that usually take a hoof-like shape at the ends of his legs. It is impeccably clean, never a thing out of place. Faerai shares her bedroom with her father, as all younglings do, but unlike most other Fyrni parents her father let her have free reign in decorating. Their bed is a wide, round mound of stuffed furs and cushions set inside carved crystal and covered in soft pillows, quilts and a few homemade stuffed animals. All of the shelves, cupboards and drawers are carved into the curves of the crystal walls, filled with clothes, cloth or books and a few wooden figurines. The only thing not carved into the room itself is the basin of oil that stands next to a section of wall buffed so smooth as to be reflective (the oils are for healing and cleaning). There's a gentle everglow bulb (thin crystal and moss that responds to Fyrni magic) that hangs from the ceiling.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Quartet-chapter 8

here or read it below. this chapter is perfectly safe to read at work.

Daniel calls Alice on Monday to say they need to talk and she invites him over for dinner the next night.  The girls will be out on the town with her younger sister who flew in to visit for the week so they can speak privately.  His old home isn’t particularly far from his current one.  This is because when Armand said he was buying them a house, he had asked Daniel if he had any requests.  His only request had been to be near his daughters, in case of an emergency.

Alice is wearing leggings and an oversized tee-shirt when she opens the door.  Her brown hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying a huge glass of red wine.  She’s wearing her square, black-framed glasses instead of her usual contacts.  “It’s been a day,” she says.  “Your daughter is smoking.”

Daniel frowns and follows her inside the house and into the kitchen.  It’s small, but sunny and warm, the walls an inviting yellow.  The round table had barely been big enough to fit the four of them.�� Daniel supposes they have more room now.  

“Which one?” Daniel asks.  Erin is older and less rebellious, but she’d taken the divorce harder than Chloe.  

Alice slides a plate of hamburger and macaroni over to him.  Alice never cooked anything fancy, not with Chloe, who is a picky eater.  Armand never cooked, he merely hired top of the line chefs and had them prepare all sorts of rare and exotic food.  But sometimes a person just wanted Hamburger Helper.  

“Erin,” Alice says and slides into her normal spot across from him.  “Guess where she got them?”

Daniel does have an emergency pack of cigarettes hidden in his office.  Or he did.

“She found my emergency smokes.”

Alice eyes him and takes a huge swallow of wine.  “I thought you quit smoking.”

He has.  Except for emergencies.  What classifies as an emergency depends on how bad he needs a cigarette.  

“I’ll talk to her, okay?”

Alice takes another swallow of wine, and her body goes tense, like she’s bracing for something.  “Why did you want to talk, Daniel?”

“I’m not using again,” Daniel says, and Alice’s entire body slumps forward and relaxes.

“Oh, thank god,” she says and takes a gulp of wine.  

Daniel doesn’t think she’s going to like what he has to say next any better than if he had.  “I’m trying to work things out with Armand.”

Alice drains the rest of the wine.  “Well, that makes sense.  I’d like to believe I wouldn’t be cheated on unless you were absolutely stupid over the other person.”

She sighs and levels her gaze.  “But honestly, I do want you to be happy.  I mean, I wanted you to suffer appropriately for cheating, but I’m over it.  And if this guy is who makes you happy, then go for it.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Alice grimaces a little.  “But it’s going to be an uphill battle with the girls.  They won’t care he’s a man–we raised them better than that–but they will consider him a homewrecker.  They’ll hate him once they know he was the reason for the divorce.”

“Maybe I just don’t tell them?”  Daniel says, but he knows it’s pointless.  Erin is whip smart and quick to put things together.  She’ll ask if Armand is the one.  She’d ask about whoever Daniel started dating.  

“Good luck with that.”

/

Bianca had called him after she delivered the papers to Nicki, naturally.  But today he’s in her office in the Upper East side, only a few minutes from home.  The wall of windows lets in an enormous amount of light.  Bianca went around and closed the blinds, then sank down gracefully into her seat behind her large desk.  

Armand is sitting across from her in a very stylish and compact cream colored armchair.  A matching one is a few feet away, both facing Bianca’s desk.  Her shoes are tossed on the cushion, white with white lace flowers and in the center on each flower a pearl, and a strap of real pearls that wrapped around each ankle.  They matched the pearls in her braided bun.  Golden ringlets frame her face, perfectly placed.  

A deep groan cracks her perfect image.  “Nicki’s been using Lestat’s lawyer.  She’s heinous; do you know how hard it is to stay polite with that level of passive-aggression?”

He runs a theater, so he has some idea.  Drama is what actors were good at.  “If you can make it through dinner with Father, you can manage anything.”

Bianca sighs and kicks her feet up onto the desk.  Her toenails are painted a bright pink.  “Speaking of Uncle Marius,” she says, as if she didn’t have the most torturous and terrible crush on him when she was in college, “he’s been pestering me about you.  He says you aren’t returning his calls.”

“He’s been calling more often.  It’s exhausting.”  He means Marius is exhausting, but Bianca knows that.

“Well, call him back.  He’s starting to suggest we set up a regular family dinner,” Bianca says then swings her legs off the desk and leans forward on her elbows conspiringly.  “I think it has something to do with Pandora.  You know how they are.  She withdraws, he lavishes her with attention and smothers her; she leaves for a while, she comes back.”

Bianca knows the family dynamics well; she’s practically Armand’s adopted sister.  She had met Armand and Marius when Armand was only fifteen.  She was nineteen and stunningly beautiful, one of Marius’ pupils.  Armand had developed quite the crush on her.  She developed quite the crush on Marius.  Marius was frustrated that Bianca would not focus on her painting, and still silently furious that Armand had never begun to paint again.  Not after he’d been kidnapped.  

Bianca had always been kind to him, and so gracious about his obvious affection for her.  Never condescending and always warm and friendly in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted as flirtatious.  Eventually, she grew close enough to them both that she shared her family were criminals, and made her commit crimes.  Marius had offered to take care of it for her, and had taken Armand with him.  He had essentially bought Bianca from her family, giving them an insane amount of money to leave her life and leave her in his care.  

Marius had gotten her an apartment, a car, and paid for her schooling.  Said something about her being a diamond in the rough.  Armand has always been pretty sure it had more to do with the fact that his father really, really, wanted to fuck a teenager.  A teenager who was one of his students.  Armand believes they must have fucked at some point, just to get it out of their systems, but Bianca is demure on the topic.

And she enjoys messing with him too much to ever let him know one way or the other.

He and Bianca had fucked, after he turned eighteen.  It was a now-and-then thing during his college years, when both of them were too focused on school for anything serious.  Every few months they would hook up, and they’d see each other at Marius’ during the holidays, because of course, she was invited.  That had just been convenient at first, he didn’t even have to leave home for a booty call.  After a while, it seemed too intimate, too much like a real relationship.

And maybe it could have been.  Armand doesn’t know if he could have ever loved Bianca like he loves Louis, but he knows he loved her as much as a teenage boy could.  Nearly as much as he loved Lestat.  He’d always been so careful to keep them away from each other.  He had been terribly afraid they would meet and instantly love each other and forget him.  

But Marius had discovered them, and he had been disappointed.  He hadn’t said so, but it was obvious.  Later, Bianca would tell him with red-rimmed eyes that Marius had pulled her aside and told her something shocking.  He’d been waiting until she was ‘old enough’ to declare his love for her and he thought she knew, and thought she was waiting as well.  Bianca had told him off for expecting her to wait around some arbitrary amount of time, and had stormed out.  

At least, that’s what she told Armand when she found him outside.  He’d been hiding in his old treehouse.  She had swiped at her bleary eyes, and explained it to him.  Armand had thought she was gone an awful long time, for just talking.  He’d been sure they had fucked after that fight.

Probably just the once, as some sick form of closure.  Marius would be too self-righteous to ever try an honest relationship with her, and besides, Armand had already had her; she was spoiled.

She climbed into the hammack beside him and laid her head on his chest.  Her voice had been so small when she spoke.  “I don’t think I can do this anymore.  This thing between us.”

Armand hadn’t said anything, just stroked a hand through her hair.  He felt her crying onto his shirt.  “I feel like we’re on the precipice of something, and if we keep going we’re going to tip over.  I’m going to tip over, to a place I can’t come back from.”

Armand had been surprised; while Bianca freely admitted she loved him, he never thought it held romantic connotations.  She freely told Riccardo that she loved him.  She said it to several of those girls from the gaggle that followed her around.  

“I thought you were in love with Fa-Marius.”

Bianca smiled sadly.  “I am;”  she looked up into Armand’s face and met his eyes.  “But I’m in love with you too.  I don’t know how or when it happened.  But I am, and I want you both and it’s not fair, but I do.”

And Armand hadn’t been angry.  The idea of Bianca being in love with someone else wasn’t appalling; it was that it was Marius that was the problem.  

“If I choose one of you, the other will resent me.  And I will be the reason for strife between you.  I can’t do that.”

“You can,” Armand had said, and kissed her, because it was the perfect time too.  She tasted salty from her tears and she had trembled against him before she pulled away.  

“I can’t, I can’t,” she said.  “You can’t do anything to make me fall more in love with you.  Anymore and I’ll never be able to come back from it.”

The selfish part of Armand had wanted that, but the rational part of him told him that while he did love Bianca, he wasn’t really in love with her.  At least, not the way he had been as a boy.  It was a love so pure, and so blinding in its intensity that whatever Bianca was, she could never be what he dreamed her to be.  So they had let each other go, and distanced themselves from each other for a bit.  Then one day they just fell back together again, as friendly as they ever were, but with not an ounce of flirtation there.  Armand had found he didn’t mind.

All three of them had come back from it.  They are…family. 

“I’m not here for family gossip, as fascinating as Father’s suffering may be.”  Armand doesn’t think he actually means it.  He wants Marius to be happy.  To be happy away from him.  

“Right, Nicki,” Bianca says, “We finally reached an agreement.  Do you care about the details?”  

She and Lestat’s lawyer, working on behalf of Nicki, had spent most of yesterday and today arguing an agreement for Armand to pay for Nicki’s physical therapy.  Nicki really didn’t want to do the drug tests, and had plenty of unkind things to say about him, Armand imagined.

“Not particularly.”

“The juicy bit that I didn’t want to get into on the phone is why Nicki thinks you’re doing it,” Bianca says with a grin.

“Guilt?” Armand guesses.

Bianca laughs, a tinkling sound.  “He knows you too well for that.  No, he thinks you’re trying to impress Lestat.  He believes you’re in love with him.”

In love with Lestat.  Well, Nicki would think that, wouldn’t he?  Historically, he would be correct.  But Armand is hardly a teenage boy anymore.    “That just means he’s still hung up on him.”

“Oh, it is unhealthy,” Bianca says.  “But I’m sure whatever you’re actually scheming will work perfectly.  Marius wouldn’t have picked us if we weren’t brilliant.”

“It will work.  It involves Lestat being a slut.”

“He’s blond.  Blonds have the right to be slutty,” Bianca says.  Then she points a finger at Armand.  “I will see you at family dinner.”

“I’m not-”

“Forty-eight hours.  I have not slept in forty-eight hours working on this Nicki business for you.  You owe me.”

“I’ll add it to your billable hours.”

Bianca’s eye twitches.  “Armand, you will come and save me.  Marius is talking about introducing me to some ‘nice young man.’”

That is solely one of those things that is not his problem; but he cares about Bianca.  “Fine, but only because you’re playing damsel-in-distress.”

Bianca clutches hands over her chest and pretends to swoon.  “Armand, my hero.”

Armand is going to hate every minute of this.  At least he’ll have Louis to bring along and make things bearable.

[hilarychuff]

wip tag game

@enoughtotemptme shared a writing game challenging people to find the words bad, shy, pink and swim in their WIPs and post snippets and it seemed like fun! decided to share one instance of the word from each wip i could find it in — but i couldn’t find anything for shy in my wips bc apparently i often just use pink instead!!!! who knew!! i grabbed some hefty size chunks tbh and also linked when there was something on tumblr to link to. anyway:

bad

jonsa uptown girls au

It was the lights that stopped working first, she realizes when she thinks about it. The lights and then her wifi, her debit card, her credit card. It didn’t worry her right away. It happens sometimes. Petyr takes care of all her bills, and sometimes she misses his calls. Sometimes she forgets to call him back for days, weeks, long enough that it’s too late to authorize the payments over the phone and she has to head into his office instead. It’s not usually everything at once, but that’s all it is, she thinks. Bad luck. Bad timing. She ignored too many calls, probably. But when she finally drags herself down to Baelish Wealth Management, Petyr says there aren’t any papers to sign to authorize past due payments. There aren’t any payments to be made. Or there are, of course, plenty, but there’s simply no money to pay them.

buckingham time rewind au 

For a second, she really thinks it’ll be that easy, but then Jason Carver looks over at them. (Well, he looks over at Chrissy. He looks right through Robin, like he doesn’t even see her, like she’s not even there, and isn’t that ridiculously insulting when Robin thinks she actually hasn’t been doing half bad? Actually, she’s maybe even been doing sort of good?) Smiling at Chrissy, he steps forward to slide an arm around her shoulders. 

hellcheer chrissy lives au

It was easier to go along than to go against. Before, she had wished for something to happen to her. Something bad, something outside of her control that could just make everything stop. Maybe, she’d thought once from the top of a pyramid, another from the highest point of a basket toss, maybe this time they won’t catch me. Maybe today I’ll slip right through their arms instead. Now, something bad had happened, and it had only made everything that much worse. Her mother, Jason — their constant presence, constant direction made her feel like she was being packed away, folded up smaller and smaller until she disappeared inside of herself, but the idea that she could change anything now when she hadn’t been able to before — it took everything she had just to keep her head down and let them move her through life like a doll. 

shy

n/a

pink

sansa-centric sharp objects au

“Yeah,” Arya echoes. “A ride would be great.” She’s got rollerskates on, but she’s sitting on a concrete ledge that traces the far edge of the sidewalk, aimlessly wheeling her feet back and forth where they rest against the pavement. Sansa is next to her, beat up sneakers static on the cement. “I’m pretty sure I can get Petyr to buy me my own car sometime this year, but no luck so far,” Arya offers. “I’m stuck with these for now, but they do the trick in town.”

“Sure,” Sansa says. “They look really cool.” She had a pair of her own once, pink with turquoise blue laces. She wonders if they’re still hanging from a peg in Petyr’s garage.

buckingham time rewind au 

She’d spent the rest of the ride grilling him, had put Chrissy out of her mind entirely, but then she’d stood at her locker and spotted Chrissy across the hall and one hand had come up automatically when they’d locked eyes. Chrissy had gone pink, ducked her head, peeked back up through her bangs. She’d looked exactly like something out of a movie, and a sudden surge of confidence had Robin lifting her chin in invitation, head tilted toward her open locker door.

hellcheer chrissy lives au

He’d held her until she’d gone quiet, or at least quiet enough, only sniffles and whimpers rather than the wailing he’d walked in on. When she’d finally finished, finally caught her breath, he’d only then seemed to process the position they were in, and he’d gone pink and bashful as he slowly navigated the both of them back to their feet. But he’d stayed close as he guided her out of the restroom and then the school, keeping her tucked under one arm as he walked her to the same picnic table where they’d met before. 

hellcheerington touch therapy drabble

It’s already hot in the room — stifling really — but Steve feels his temperature creep that much higher when he remembers what Chrissy had told him at the party. What she hadn’t told him, really. 

Chrissy seems to remember too, if the bright pink that blooms across her cheeks when she catches his eye is anything to go by. She squirms again in Eddie’s lap, and he presses another kiss behind her ear. 

swim

buckingham time rewind au

(There are even more he’d save if he could. Go all the way to the beginning. He thinks of Nancy and how she’d been brought right back to that swimming pool, thinks of the little Eleven had shared about her days in the lab, but her powers can only extend so far, and playing with time is a funny thing. He remembers enough of that from Back to the Future, from what he saw at the mall and what he and Robin watched on rewind in the video store approximately one hundred times after that. It was just supposed to be a stupid comedy, one that hadn’t even made much sense to him at first, but whenever he thinks about the people fading out of the pictures — Well, they have to be careful.)

tagging @cellsshapedlikestars and @julvett and @beholdthemem and @mistysharks and @staceymcgillicuddy to see if you can find and want to share any WIP scraps that include the words curl, danger, smirk, or itch. also if anyone else wants to be tagged or just play, do it!! that’s what i did lmao 

[fox-bright]

Monday morning on your way to the lab, and you’re still limping, just a little, when you see a familiar face.

It’s been six months since the last time you saw her, and back then you’d had a pretty good plan. Even now, you’d say it was about 75% effective. Despite the electric showdown with that pack of overdressed middle-schoolers, you’d managed to get enough money siphoned away from the fashion corporation that the next step of your plan would be able to go on. But the busted ribs, ‘mild’ concussion and lasting joint damage to your right leg were a hefty trade-off for the funding. You don’t have any ethereal sparkling star magic, you’re just flesh and bone. It wasn’t an even fight. None of the fights have been even, since the magical girls showed up a couple of years ago, and suddenly corporate espionage got very physical.

Still, what were you going to do, shoot her? Even if that wouldn’t have left you snapped back into realtime in a public park, standing over the de-transformed corpse of a twelve-year-old, you couldn’t stomach the thought. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know who she was working for. If she managed to survive to adulthood, you could take her out for a beer and talk her through some things.

You aren’t thinking about her when you pass the coffee shop, you’re thinking about your tomatoes. There are hornworms, again, and you’re still resisting dousing the plants in a systemic pesticide, but every evening when you get home from…work, another plant has been half-consumed. You’d heard that they fluoresce under black light, so maybe you should borrow one from the lab, and…

You’ve half passed her by before her features register. You know that face. You usually see it framed by a hip-length mane of silver hair, and bearing truly exuberant eyeshadow, but there’s a set to the mouth that you’d recognize anywhere.

She’s not looking at you. She’s sitting on a bench in the little green space beside the cafe, wrapped up a bit too heavily for this late in the spring, and she’s looking up at the barista shaking his finger at her. “I’ve told you already, you can’t sit here if you’re not buying anything.” He was saying, sounding tired. “I don’t want to have to call somebody, but I will, if you don’t get out of here.”

Her eyes—dark brown, not that snapping electric green—are filling with tears, and you stop without thinking about it. “Hey!” you say, friendly. The barista looks over at you. “She was just waiting for me. Could you get her a hot chocolate, please, and a pastry? I’d like chamomile tea. And a muffin, whatever you have.” You hold out your credit card—exclusive, of a rarity not usually seen in this little shop—and the barista takes it. Mollified, he heads inside.

The girl is looking up at you with real fear. You hold up both your hands, placating. “Hey, I just thought you looked like you wanted a cocoa. I won’t touch it, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, but you look cold.” You sit on the opposite side of the bench, a full seat’s width between you. You hunch your shoulders a little and sink down, becoming small.

“I’m just on my way in to work, so I can’t hang out for too long, but at least you can get half an hour without that guy bugging you.”

She finally speaks. Quietly, in a thick voice, she says “I know he’s just doing his job.”

You snort. “Sure. But he doesn’t have to. The manager’s never in before noon. He could give you more time. He’s choosing not to do so.” The rant comes to your tongue too easily. “So many people choose to follow bad rules, and tell themselves that they’re not choosing.”

Another barista appears, this one younger, female. “Tea and cocoa?” she asks, passing them down and dropping both snacks beside you.

The girl wraps both her hands tight around the paper cup.

You realize, belatedly, that she’s alone. “Hey, where’s your—your critter, the little guy?”

You hadn’t meant anything by it, but now the tears can’t be held back, and she’s curling around the cocoa and fighting to keep the sobs quiet. “I said—I don’t want to hurt—they made me fight another kid—”

You take a careful breath.

“Who,” you say deliberately, “are ‘they?’ ”

You expect to hear, OsmotoCorp. You know they spearheaded the interplanar research that lead to the creation of her type. You expect to hear, WalOps, who have been the largest users of the magical girl population. You’re thinking that drink you wanted to take her for might end up being a cocoa instead of a beer, because she might need the primer now and not in another six years.

She says, “Mom and Dad.”

And the thing is, you’re used to being angry. You wouldn’t know who you were, without the rage. But it’s been a long, long time since you’ve let it do more than fuel you. You know it’s a corrupting energy if given its own head, and so you’ve got the vegetable garden, and an extensive list of therapeutic habits, and a weekly long-distance call with your favorite ex-girlfriend, and all of that burns away like paper in the front of what you immediately understand.

“Your mother and father are the Drs. Oshimo.” You’d had no idea, but now that you realize, it’s obvious. “Your parents are the head scientists of OsmotoCorp.”

She’s stopped breathing. Her eyes are very, very wide. She’s about to drop the cocoa. You reach out and catch it, tip it back upright in her narrow hand. Barely a whisper, she says “Please don’t hurt them.”

You shake your head. “I’m not interested in hurting them.” You say. “Put it out of your mind. Your cocoa’s getting cold.”

You sit in silence. You don’t press. After thirty seconds, she takes a sip of the chocolate. You unwrap the muffin—chocolate with chocolate chips, way too much at nine AM, but needs must—and pass her the cherry danish. She takes it, and eats mechanically.

You wait until she decides to speak again. You have to strain to hear her over the traffic. “I told them I didn’t want to, and they said that if I wasn’t going to do the job, I couldn’t have Stellacadens anymore. They said they’re going to give him to another girl.”

You breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “And then?”

“And then they said that if I wasn’t going to be a good girl, I wasn’t their daughter anymore. And they took my starlight key, and they took my phone, and they told me to get out.”

You blink. “I didn’t know they could do that.” You’d gotten your hand on that key, just once, just for an instant. You still have the scar, silvery on the inside of your left palm. All she’d done is giggled, and it had twinkled through the air to land back on its ribbon at her hip.

She shrank smaller in on herself. “Neither did I.” She said, and you realize she means, I hadn’t known they could throw me away.

The rage is simmering down to its usual level now. Manageable. A reactor, not a bomb. Fuel for what comes next. “Well.” You’ve finished your awful muffin, and you take a swig of the bitter tea to rinse your mouth. “That’s that, then.”

She looks up at you as you stand. “Thank you for the cocoa,” she says mechanically.

You shake your head. “De nada. Do you need a change of clothes? How long has it been?” She’s looking at you curiously, uncertainly. “It was. Thursday morning.” “Four days without a shower, I’m betting. All right. Stand up, come along, we’re going to get you some real breakfast. Something with protein. You’re going to need energy.”

“I don’t—” but she’s visibly so hungry, and you’d bet it’s been a solid three days since her pocket money ran out. You waggle your hands again. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t walk past this. Let’s get a meal into you, and get you warm, and then we can talk about what happens next.” “What…what happens next?” “What happens next is, we go get some of my friends, and we get you back your cat.”

You are a villain with a long-standing rivalry with the local Magical Girl. One day, you learn that the Magical Girl has been abandoned by her parents.