#AND LEMON SQUARES TOO—

[loving-delusions]

the blood moon has struck once more

and i crave... garlic bread.... lemonade....... fruit shake.............

[lemon-wedges]

Day 7, 8/27: Free Day

I wanted to end brry week with something real special. thats right a TDI style beam POW >:D

[sincerelymarner]

being home means that i make food in bulk to freeze to bring back to uni

[whoslaurapalmer]

sometimes you get fresh fruit and you're like, oh it looks so good, it'll be great to bake with! but sometimes you get fresh fruit and it is so perfect. so gorgeous. such a glorious fruit that it's actually like borderline sacrilegious to bake with it because it should just be eaten whole, as it is, ideally in a haze of fruit delight

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hello! hope ur doing well! love ur writing and excited for the blurb weekend!! was wondering if i could request number 2 and 8 from the pining list with steve harrington? love the way you write him always!! thank you!!!

“doing something nice for the other impulsively,” and “getting flustered when the other is nice to them.”

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Everyone knew about your crush on Steve. Everyone— well, apart from the boy himself. You weren’t sure how you could possibly hide it, your eyes wide and cheeks hot everytime he was near, words caught in your throat when he spoke to you and god, it took too long for you to be able to settle in his presence.

Which is why you’d taken to sticking to Robin’s side when he invited everyone around to his pool, the summer too hot and too sticky for doing much else. The Indiana heat was borderline cruel that year, endless blue skies pretty and relentless, no clouds for the sun to hide behind.

So everyone piled in to the Harrington’s backyard, swimsuits already on under shorts and baggy shirts, sliders and jelly shoes kicked to the side as everyone stripped at the sight of cool, blue water. Eddie had a radio playing, a somewhat playful argument between him and Nancy ensuing as music choices were discussed and Jonathan took to the shade, pulling a book out of his bag, a vibrant yellow bucket hat that El had gifted him pulled low on his brow.

Then Steve had made his way around you all, shirtless and with a baseball cap shoved on his messy hair, backwards and sporting a hockey team you didn’t know much about. He was already so tanned, prettier than normal with more freckles and flushed cheeks. The sight of him made your breath hitch, shoulder squaring off as you watched him hand a beer to Eddie, another to Jonathan.

Beside you, Robin snorted, shaking her head and watching you from behind cherry coloured sunglasses. You’d set up camp with her on the other side of the pool, heads burning from the sun but your feet dipped in the water, both of you smelling like chlorine and sunscreen.

You frowned, already waiting on the teasing that naturally came. You played dumb regardless, staring at your feet in the water, your skin a shade of blue, the lines of your toes rippling. “What?” You already sounded so defensive.

“Nothing,��� Robin snorted. But she pushed her shoulder into yours, sticky with heat and lotion. “Just wondering when you’ll be able to look at Steve without absolutely falling apart.”

Your scowl deepened along with your embarrassment. But you feigned ignorance and watched Nancy fish out her lemon water from her bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed.

Robin just hummed, grinning she stared across the yard. “Interesting.”

“Seriously, I do not fall—“

A shadow fell over both of you briefly before a broad shoulder brushed your own. Steve sat down next to you despite there being more room next to Robin, the heat from all his bare skin making you so, so aware of his proximity. You blinked, lips still parted from talking but the words had died off on your tongue. You felt the familiar creep of warmth along your chest, up your neck.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, his smile too kind, too pretty. “I brought you a drink.”

Instead of a cold can of beer, like he’d handed the boys, Steve offered you a glass. One of his mom’s fancy ones with the patterns along the side, a rosy pink tint to the liquid inside. It was filled with ice, fizzing and bubbling and it smelled like lemons and cherries. It even had a circle of the yellow citrus floating on top, summer in a cup.

It felt hard to talk when you took it from him, fingers brushing and you felt like a kid, like a teenager, a crush that was achingly awful, all consuming and gut wrenching.

He was so pretty and so close and—

“What’s that?” Robin peered over your shoulder, still grinning, looking particularly pleased with the situation she got to witness. “Where’s mine, dingus?”

The boy glared at his friend before he shrugged, all nonchalance and he gestured to you with cheeks more pink than your juice. “It’s just something I mixed up, alright? And you like beer, okay? You can grab a can, your legs work.”

You weren’t sure what made your heart beat faster, the fact that Steve had remembered you didn’t like beer or that he’d went out of his way to make you a drink that was more than a glass of soda.

Robin scoffed but she moved regardless, water dripping on your knees as she got up and walked around the pool, glaring at Steve as she went. “I see how it is,” she told him. “S’real cute, Steven. You could be more subtle next time.”

You were burning, you were sure of it. And Steve seemed to feel the same because he was red now, the tips of his ears scarlet and he flipped Robin off before she disappeared into the kitchen.

And then you realised you were alone with the boy. Something that didn’t happen often, something that you usually tried hard to avoid because you were floundering, both hands clasping the freezing cold glass and god, god— you were so aware that your body was mostly bare, your swimsuit green and suddenly too tight.

Steve’s naked chest was alarmingly close, moles and freckles dotted across sunkissed skin and with a smattering of hair, his arms corded with muscle you hadn’t really seen before, brushing up against yours as he glanced over at you.

He looked shy. Was Steve shy? Was that possible?

You realised you were staring a second too late, eyes flickering back to the pool and you tried not to cringe, or do something stupid, like tumble into the pool and float to the bottom.

So you slipped the straw Steve had placed in your cup between your lips, taking a sip. Bubbles touched your tongue, lemon and cherry and sweetness and tart filling your mouth. You hummed, taking another long drag and you could feel the boy smiling.

“D’you like it?”

You nodded, barely able to lift your head to meet Steve’s gaze but when you did, you were so glad of it. He was beaming, looking too pleased as you took another sip and his knee was bumping against yours, his hand on the pool edge and close to your thigh.

“It’s delicious,” you managed. “You didn’t have to though, I could’ve had some water or—“

Steve waved away your words, nose wrinkled and he tutted. “Nah, what? S’no big deal.”

It was. It was a big deal.

It felt momentous, actually.

“Did you make more?” You dared to ask, feeling brave with the sun in your eyes and Steve’s leg against your own. The water didn’t feel so cold anymore. “For everyone else?”

Steve couldn’t hide his smile then, lips pressed together and eyes crinkling as he shook his head, looking guilty and handsome for it. “No, just you.” He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. “Don’t tell the rest of them, but, I like you the most.”

You felt hotter than the sun.

[katelynnwrites]

All The Things You Did, Just So You Could Call Her Yours | Sydney Lohmann x Child!Reader

warnings: ~

word count: 1802

summary: You and Momma do something for your Mama Syd

a/n: part of Sydney's Little Liebe

You don’t really get to sit on your red blanket and watch your Tantes and mothers practice anymore.

There is kindergarten that you go to instead.

On the weekend practices though, you still do it. You get to bring your snacks and toys down to the training pitch, to watch all your favourite people.

Usually you, Momma and Mama Syd go home or out for dinner afterwards but today it is just you and Momma.

Mama has to stay back for an extra session with the physio to make sure she is able to keep being super careful and injury free.

You and Momma each give her a big kiss goodbye and you get to choose where you go for dinner.

‘Ice cream!’ You decide immediately.

Momma laughs, ‘Ice cream isn’t enough for dinner but we can get ice cream and waffles?’

You nod eagerly and tug excitedly on your Momma’s hand, to lead her to the car.

Your Momma is smiling as she lets you, even as she buckles you into your car seat.

It’s not a long drive to your favourite ice cream place and you are practically vibrating with anticipation as Momma helps you get out of the car.

‘Ice cream! Ice cream!’ You cheer, clapping your hands together.

The bell above the door tinkles when you push it open with your Momma’s help. It makes you giggle and you skip over to the counter to press your face up against the glass display.

You need to tiptoe to see properly but you manage.

There are so many different colours of ice cream and you always have to think real hard which flavour you want.

Tante Laura is always saying hazelnut is the best flavour but you don’t really like it.

Mama Syd gets chocolate all the time she often lets you steal a bite or two from hers but you are not really feeling it today.

Staring at the ice creams for another long moment, you eventually decide on the pretty yellow one.

‘Zitrone please.’ You tell your Momma.

Momma smiles at you before ordering, ‘One scoop of lemon with a waffle and then another scoop of strawberry with a waffle please.’

‘Uppies.’ You insist, stretching your hands upwards in hopes that she will pick you up.

Your Momma obliges you with a chuckle, lifting you up and settling you on her hip.

You have grown a lot in the last few years so you don’t get carried like this a lot anymore but you want to see them scoop your ice cream and make your waffle.

It looks so yummy and you simply cannot wait for it to be done.

Momma keeps letting you watch and when it’s done, she sets you back down so she can pay and collect it.

There are a lot of empty tables and you pick the nearest one.

Your Momma follows you, putting the food down and watching you carefully as you climb into your chair.

When you are safely sitting in it, Momma sits down too and helps you cut your waffle up.

You like waffles because they have little squares to put the ice cream in.

Mama says that you’re a funny one because you absolutely love sour things. Sometimes you eat lemon slices instead of just letting them flavour your water.

After filling the squares with ice cream, you put a piece in your mouth and chew on it.

‘Good Momma.’ You mumble, with your mouth full of food.

Your Momma laughs, taking a napkin and wiping some ice cream off your mouth.

She lets you eat, helping you from time to time until you are almost finished.

It is then that she asks you, ‘Little Liebe? Do you know what Mama’s last name is?’

You stare at her funny, like she thinks you are silly.

With a little bit of a know it all tone, you state, ‘It’s Lohmann. It starts with a big capital L. She wears it on the back of her jerseys.’

Momma chuckles, ‘Yes, you’re right. Good job Little Liebe.’

‘Well do you know what happens when people get married or adopted?’

You like knowing things and are proud when you answer, ‘They become a family!’

Your Momma laughs again, ‘Good job Little Liebe. That is very right. But do you want to know what else happens?’

Nodding eagerly, you wait rather impatiently for her to elaborate.

Very carefully, Momma continues, ‘It means that we can share the same last name. Now you don’t have to. You can keep the last name that you have got but I feel like I want to do something for your Mama and change my last name so that I can share it with her. It’ll sort of be my wedding present to her.’

You don’t even need a moment to think, ‘Want to share too. Mama Syd likes presents, I want to give her a present too.’

‘Are you very sure Little Liebe?’ Momma checks.

Using your fork to poke another piece of cut up waffle, you stuff it into your mouth and mumble around it, ‘Uh huh.’

The smile you show your Momma is all the assurance she needs.

******

Momma fills in the deed poll documents as soon as the both of you get home.

She has opted to hyphenate her last name with your Mama’s. It is a lot of spelling for you to do and while you can identify your letters now, you’re not able to spell your new last name on your own for a while.

The documents need to be sent to a lawyer so it is going to take some time and money but Momma thinks it is worth it.

Your Mama has been a part of your life since the very beginning and in the past few years, has played an even bigger role.

You don’t have a father, you have never had one. It is Mama Syd that had gone with you to your kindergarten’s father daughter dance, Mama that had let you sit in her lap as she put your big girl bed from Ikea together.

Mama was Tante Syd for a long time so initially you kind of mixed the two together and ended up with Mama Syd.

It makes your Momma and Mama smile so you stick with it.

Momma thinks it’s been a long time coming because she knows how much you mean to Mama Syd.

******

The approved deed polls come in right on time and you get to excitedly present the envelope they’re in to your Mama, the night of her wedding.

‘For you Mama Syd!’

Mama has not stopped smiling all day, just like your Momma.

You have smiled the entire day too and you continue to do so as Mama Syd takes the envelope from you.

‘What have you got there Little Liebe?’

‘A wedding present. Cause you got married to my Momma.’

Your explanation is accompanied by a happy dance and your Mama can’t help but giggle.

‘I did Little Liebe. Today’s been one of the best days of my life.’

‘Open it! Open it!’

Momma has come into the bedroom now, watching from the doorway with a soft smile on her face.

‘Open it my love.’ She adds gently.

That is something your Momma calls Mama Syd now and from the way Mama looks at her every time, you think it makes her very very happy.

Mama carefully opens the envelope and takes out the papers inside.

She unfolds it and you can see her eyes growing shinier the more she reads.

When she finishes reading, she looks up at Momma.

Her voice trembles as she breathes, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

Then she turns to you, opening her arms, ‘Come here Little Liebe.’

You bounce over to her and she lifts you up onto her lap.

‘Mama hi.’

‘Hi baby.’

Mama Syd holds you close, tucking your head under her chin.

‘Not a baby Mama.’ You remind her.

Your Mama Syd laughs wetly.

‘I know but you’re always going to be my baby.’

Wrinkling your nose in distaste, you go limp in her arms and let her cuddle you.

She says funny things sometimes, just like your Momma.

‘Ich liebe dich. I love having you as my daughter. I love being your Mama.’ She promises you seriously.

You look up at her, softly answering, ‘Love you too Mama.’

Being in your Mama’s arms is warm and safe. She smells so comfy and you have had a long day so it’s really no surprise that your eyes begin to slip shut.

Mama Syd has loved you from the very second your Momma told her about you, adored you from the first moment she met you.

Now that she has adopted you and you share a last name, it makes her feel like you’re really hers. You have always been considered family but now you are genuinely family. You are her child.

She thinks about the day she first met you and how much things have changed since. You’ve grown a lot and Mama knows that she won’t be able to cradle you like this for much longer.

Your Mama soaks in the short time she has left, holding you close until you completely fall asleep in her embrace.

Her fingers trace over your cheek delicately before she carefully shifts to lay you in the middle of the big bed.

Mama Syd takes the bolsters and puts them on either side of you in case you roll over in your sleep.

‘Sweet dreams meine Little Liebe.’ She whispers, gently pressing a goodnight kiss onto your forehead.

It is only then that she crosses the room, pulling your Momma into a deep kiss.

‘I love you. So much. I can’t believe you did this for me, now I’ll have to change my last name to match.’

Momma shrugs simply, ‘You deserve it because you complete our family. I love you too.’

They are a simple four words but Mama treasures them every single time.

She went a long time thinking she would never hear them from your Momma’s mouth and sometimes she thinks it is still unreal that Momma loves her back.

She smiles at your Mama.

‘I dreamt of my wedding night a lot as I was growing up and this never once crossed my mind.’

Her gaze drifts to your sleeping form and you let out a loud snore. Mama giggles and her smile grows infinitely softer, ‘This is a million times better though.’

Your Momma’s voice is incredibly affectionate, ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Mama murmurs.

She tears up a bit, taking your Momma’s hand in hers and asking, ‘Wanna go cuddle with our daughter now?’

Momma doesn’t even have to think twice.

‘There is nothing I would like more.’

German Translations:

tante - aunty

meine Little Liebe - my Little Love

zitrone - lemon

ich liebe dich - i love you

[gamma-rae-bursts]

The Ex Factor

Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Your ex girlfriend starts working at Abbott as Melissa’s new teachers aide.

Content Warnings: past abusive relationship, mentions of trauma, cheating, manipulative and toxic ex.

Genre: hurt/comfort, some fluff

Word count: 3.6k+

A/N: this one got a little out of hand ngl, i hope you like it tho! covers a square of my bingo. Kinda unedited.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm, the soft rays of sunshine lighting up the room as you reach to your phone attempting to stop the dreadful tune. A hint of sadness flickered within you as you glanced to the other side of the bed, feeling the cold emitting from it hinting that Melissa has been gone for quite some time now. 

You reluctantly left the warmth and comfort of your sheets, the cold air hovering over your exposed skin as you slowly stood up. You reached for your robe, pulling it onto your body to shield it from the morning breeze. Your bedroom was always cold, Melissa had a terrible habit of leaving the window open throughout the night, no matter what time of the year it was. She always claimed it helped her sleep better and you didn’t complain, just another excuse to snuggle up closer to your girlfriend, seeking the warmth of her body.

Just as you started heading downstairs the sounds of Melissa clattering around the kitchen filled your ears, the clicking of the plates combined with clanging of pans in a typical for her manner. You continued to walk down the staircase, stopping in at the kitchen door to take in the sight of the redhead in her element. 

A slight worry overtook you as you saw the distress painted across your girlfriend’s face, she didn’t even notice you at the door, too preoccupied with whatever she had cooking on her stove. Putting in all the effort at making sure everything she served you for breakfast was perfect, hoping that would relieve some stress she was under while she was teaching two grades at the same time.

“Good Morning” you said through a yawn, standing in the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Mornin’ hon.” The redhead replied as she kept her attention focused on the pancakes frying in the pan. “You’re up early today.” 

“The bed was cold without you in it.” You replied with a pout on your lips.

“Couldn’t sleep, sorry I woke you up, you can go back to sleep if you want, I’ll put the food in some containers so you can have it a bit later.” Melissa shrugged. You always started work later than Melissa, most of the time opting for getting a bit of extra sleep when she was getting ready for work.

“You didn’t and I couldn’t miss out on a morning with my favourite girl, could I?”

“Please, I’m hardly a girl anymore.” She replied with a sigh, her gaze still focused on the stove.

You took a few steps in her direction, wrapping your arms around her as your head rested on the back of her shoulder “Oh but you are my girl, aren’t you?” you said, kissing her neck.

“Mhm” the woman chuckled softly, turning her head to leave a kiss on your head. “the pancakes will be ready in a few minutes; would you mind setting the table?” 

“On it, boss.” You replied with a sarcastic salute and did as she asked, taking all the necessary dishes and cutlery to the table. You made your way back to the kitchen to take the bowls filled with delicious looking toppings that Melissa prepared earlier, leaving a quick kiss on her cheek as you were heading into the dining room. 

It didn’t take long for the redhead to join you with a plate full of delicious looking pancakes, every single one made to perfection. You eagerly reached for them, taking a few onto your plate.  You topped half of them with maple syrup and butter and the rest, much to Melissa’s distaste, with lemon juice and sugar.  

“You’re a degenerate, you know that right?” she said side-eyeing your pancakes.

You playfully rolled your eyes at her comment “Stop it, I like them like that!”

She just chuckled and shook her head, you always told her the lemon and sugar combination reminded you of the year you spent on an exchange in England, but despite that she didn’t let up on teasing you about your choice of pancake toppings.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable silence. When the two of you finished eating, you got to cleaning the dishes and Melissa went on to get ready for the workday ahead of her. She returned roughly half an hour later, wearing her leather pants and a pink top she knew you loved on her, which also gave her a little confidence boost she felt she could use today. 

Just as Melissa was leaving the house, you shouted back to her, running up to the woman with a Tupperware container in your hand, she had a habit forgetting her lunch and getting all snappy when she had to order it instead of having her own food. You kissed her once more before she got into her car and left for work.

***

Melissa got to Abbott Elementary with 20 minutes to spare, she decided to head to the teachers’ lounge but before she could make her way down the hallway, she heard her name being called from Ava’s office. 

“Schemmenti!” the woman exclaimed “C’mere, got a surprise for you.”

She rolled her eyes and turned around, taking a few steps towards the principal’s office. “What do you want Ava, I’m not in the mood for you trying to sell me any of your face masks or whatever that was.”

“What? No! That was last week, I’m selling foot massagers now.” The taller woman pointed at a stack of boxes stashed in the corner of her office. 

“Is this why you called me here?” the redhead sighed, visibly annoyed at her boss trying to sell her new useless products at any given occasion.

“I got you a teacher’s aide!” Ava finally exclaimed.

“I told you I don’t wan-… Wait? Say it again? A teacher’s aide?” the redhead said in disbelief. She did request one what seemed like months ago (in reality, it was just last week, but with teaching the two grades Melissa completely lost the track of time). 

“The one you requested duh! She’s gonna be here any minute.” Ava said, looking extremely proud of herself for actually doing what her job required her to. “Her name is Abigail; I’ll direct her to your classroom when she gets here.”

“Thanks Ava!” Melissa said as she left the principals office. 

Her new aide arrived just a few minutes later, confidently entering the classroom. “Is this Miss Schemmenti’s room?” she asked. She was just a little taller than Melissa, younger, but according to Melissa “not a kid”. The woman had dark hazel eyes and long brown hair, tied up in a ponytail.

“Yeah, you must be Abigail.” The redhead replied, greeting the girl.

“Abby is fine” she smiled as she shook the redhead’s hand.

The two of them got talking, despite Melissa’s usual apprehension towards the younger teachers, she got along with Abby just fine, the younger woman was a huge help in her classroom and even if it was just for that, she was willing to put up with some rookie TA in her classroom. But aside from this, the girl seemed competent enough to know how to handle third graders and not step on Melissa’s toes whilst doing her job.

***

You got home from work a little later than usual, being stuck in a corporate meeting that, in your opinion (as well as many other co-workers), could have been an email. You entered the house you shared with Melissa, ridding of your outerwear you moved to the living room. The redhead was sat of her couch, absorbed into her current read. She lifted her head with a smile when she saw you, immediately standing up from her seat and making her way towards you.

“Hey hon!” she cheerfully exclaimed, greeting you with a kiss, which you gladly reciprocated, relieved to see her in a way better mood than she was in the morning.

“Someone’s in a good mood” you said smiling at her “I assume the little demons were behaving today?”

“Even better than that, Ava got me an aide.” She smiled and you immediately cheered at the news. You knew this would be a huge relief to your girlfriend, not having to constantly worry how to handle the extra kids in her classroom while simultaneously teaching both sets of kids.

“That’s amazing Mel!” the relief was visible on her face, as well as her whole body, you could immediately tell she was more relaxes than during the past weeks.

“C’mon, I ordered our favourite takeout” she said reaching for your hand “we can just have the rest of the evening to ourselves, seen as I don’t have to make two separate lesson plans anymore”

After enjoying the food, combined with Melissa telling you about her say, the fact that the new aide seemed competent enough and that she didn’t even get the urge to hit her with the baseball bat she had stashed under her desk, you spent the rest of the evening trying to watch a TV show you started a few weeks prior. Trying meant that Melissa had to pause it roughly every 5 minutes for your rants on how inaccurate the details portrayed there actually were. She always laughed at your frustration with the writing and how quickly you could tear apart the aspects that would never even cross her mins. In your defence, the correct information was not that hard to look up after all.

***

You woke up to Melissa running around the house in a frantic manner, you looked at the time and it showed 7:25, way past the time the redhead usually leaves for work. You dragged yourself out of the bed, catching her right when she was at the door, leaving a kiss on her cheek before she rushed off to her car.

Just as you made your way to the kitchen you spotted a Tupperware container sat on top of the island, laughing to yourself at the thought of Melissa forgetting her lunch once again.

You made a plan for the day, it was your day off, so it mostly consisted of doing some house chores and taking the food down to Abbott for your girlfriend to enjoy during her lunch break. 

The few hours passed faster than you thought and before you knew it, it was time for you to leave, after all you couldn’t risk missing the allocated slot and leave your girlfriend starving and stuck with school food. 

The drive to the elementary school wasn’t long, fortunately (for you) you passed a Starbucks on you way there, making a stop to pick up a few drinks, one for you to keep your caffeine levels on the higher end throughout the day and one for Melissa, to do the exact opposite, provide the taste of coffee without the zoomies attached. You went through the drive through to gat said drinks and continued on your drive.

The cold air hit you as soon as you got out of your car, the weather today was chilly, but the sun provided some warmth as it was shining through the clouds. You grabbed your bag and the coffee cups, proceeding to walk in the direction of the entrance of the school.

You swiftly made your way through the hallways, always examining the emptiness of the walls at Abbott. You got to the end of the hallway, ready to enter your girlfriends classroom.

“Hey Mel, you forgot your lunch again I thought I’d bring it for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the room. The smile immediately faded from your face when you saw it wasn’t your girlfriend sat at the desk, but the woman you wished to never see again. “Abby? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could as you the same question” she said with a smirk “Missed me so much you had to track down where I work?”

“What do you mean work? You’re not saying you’re Melissa’s new aide, right?”

Before you could ger an answer to the question, Melissa walked right through the door, a smile appearing on her face when she saw you in the room.

“Hey hon, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh um, you forgot your lunch, I thought I’d bring it for you” you said passing her the container as well as her coffee. 

“You’re a godsend.” She said as she kissed your cheek, gratefully accepting the food. “This is my new aide, Abby, you could stay so we have the lunch together?”

“Oh I actually have to go, have a few errands to run, I’ll see you at home tho.” You quickly added before rushing out of the classroom.

***

When you got back home you tried to occupy your head with anything and everything in order to distract yourself from the fact that Melissa’s new aide was your ex-girlfriend. The way the two of you split your ways didn’t make things any better, causing you to spiral in your thoughts of what this whole ordeal meant. 

You knew you were being paranoid, the thoughts telling you that she would take Melissa away from you the same way she took all your friends when you split were irrational and completely insane. But you went through it once and you knew how manipulative and persuasive Abby could be. 

The reason you broke up with her was her cheating on you throughout the whole length of your relationship. You’ve had many attempts at leaving her, but each time she managed to talk you back into staying, saying you’d be nothing without her.

And for the longest time, you believed it. Your breaking point was finding her in your bed with one of your best friends. You kicked her out after that, but she didn’t go down without making a whole scene you were sure the whole neighbourhood could hear. Making a promise that you’d regret it. And you did, more or less. She managed to turn your whole friend group against you, painting this portrait of you being the manipulative and toxic asshole that tried to control her whole life, which left you with nobody to turn to.

The sound of the Melissa’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, now realising you were gone for longer than you thought. 

“Hon, what’s wrong?” she questioned with a concerned look on her face.

“Nothing.” You smiled at her. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“Well for starters, I’ve asked you that question 3 times before you replied.” You felt the couch you were sat on dip a little under her weight, as she took a seat right next to you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

“Care to share?” she raised her brow. You took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh before turning your head to face her.

”Abby is my ex.” You sighed again, this time tensing your shoulders. “The ex I told you about before. I guess seeing her today brought some memories back, memories I’d rather not think about.” Melissa’s eyes widened at the statement. She knew exactly which one you meant and just how broken the relationship with her left you. She pulled you closer to her, wrapping her arms around your body, placing you in a comfortable and safe embrace. 

The topic remained persistent throughout following conversations, each time ending in Melissa reassuring you just how much she loved you and promising that she was not going anywhere. She allowed you to cry your feelings out, making sure to hold you all throughout it until you were so exhausted you fell asleep on her during a movie she put on.

***

A morning shift meant you found yourself extremely bored during the evening, you deep cleaned the house as well as baked some of Melissa’s favourite cookies. You were trying to come up with more stuff to occupy yourself with when you remembered it was another parents evening at Abbott, meaning your girlfriend wouldn’t be back home for the next few hours. 

Melissa always complained how boring those things got, most times no parents came to see her, so she would just spend the whole evening sitting in her classroom, and there were definitely much better uses of her time. After finishing off the cookies and leaving them to cool down on the kitchen counter, you decided to get ready and join Melissa at school, you knew other teachers would sometimes bring their family or friends to at least get some quality time from the otherwise dull evenings. 

You put a minimal amount of makeup on, just some eyeliner and mascara, as well as some casual, but not too casual clothes before you left your house and drove to the school.

When you arrived at Abbott it was starting to get dark outside. The setting sun painted the clouds were with pink and orange that blended beautifully with the blue sky behind them. You walked into the school, making your way down the corridor and greeting all the other teachers on your way. You stopped for a little chat with Barbara, the older woman telling you about a new restaurant her and Gerald went to recently. You made a mental note of the name, as you were sure it was also right up Melissa’s alley. When a parent approached the two of you, you bid Barbara a quick goodbye, promising to catch up more in the future before you continued walking further down the hallway right to Melissa’s classroom. You heard muttered voices coming from behind the not fully closed door, figuring it would be her and another teacher you decided to come in regardless.

“Hey! I thought I’d come round so you-“ you stopped in your tracks before you could fully enter the room. Melissa was perched at the edge of her desk with Abby’s hand, what seemed to be cupping her cheek. “Melissa what the fuck?”

“You wouldn’t by chance believe me if I said this is not what it looks like?” Melissa said, horrified at your sight in her classroom. It was, indeed, not what it looked like.

You stood in the doorframe, eyes wide, not being able to comprehend what you just saw. There was no way Melissa would do that to you, right? Not after everything you told her, and definitely not after the promise she made just a few days prior. 

“Oh, fuck you, both of you.” You turned back around, leaving the room in a hurry before the redhead could get a chance to explain what actually happened.

Melissa was left in the room, trying to figure out the best way to approach the situation. She wanted to follow you but was stopped by Abby, who grabbed her hand in an attempt to prevent her from running after you. The satisfied smile was very prominent on the aide’s face, which made Melissa’s blood boil.

“The hell are you doing?” the redhead shot back at the younger woman.

“Oh, come on, she’s not worth it.” The giggle that followed the sentence further angering her. Abby did not loosen her grip on Melissa’s wrist, trying to pull the older woman closer to her body, almost leaning against her. “We could just stay here and give her a real reason to be angry.” 

The teacher snatched her hand out of the other woman’s grip, turning to face her. “You must be joking right?” she almost couldn’t believe what she heard, but the expression on Abby’s face made it clear she was completely serious. “I think I’d rather put a campfire out with my face.” She hissed, turning around to follow you. 

By the time Melissa made her way out of the school you were nowhere to be seen. There were still a few hours until the end of the parents evening. She sent a quick text to Ava, stating her early departure was caused by a family emergency, before getting into her car and driving home, hoping to find you there. 

Fortunately for her, Ava replied quickly saying she would inform any potential parents that could come to see her of the situation and set a new date for the meeting.

When Melissa got home, she heard shuffling that came from your shared bedroom, making her way to the room as quickly as she could. You were sat on your bed with your face buried in your hands. 

“Y/n, hon” a barely audible whisper accompanied with a gentle sigh left her lips. “It really wasn’t what you’re thinking.”

“Then please enlighten me what it was, Melissa” you didn’t look up, not sure if you were ready to face her without bursting into tears.

“She said my eyeliner was smudged. I said I’ll get it but before I could even reach for the tissue, she reached out to wipe it herself.”

“Well it certainly didn’t look like you were opposed to it.” you sighed, this time lifting your head to look up at her. Your eyeliner was smudged, the mascara forming dark pathways down your face. 

“Tesoro” this was another hit for her, she never wanted to be the reason you cried. “I didn’t even had time to react before you came into the room, you know I would never do that to you.”

“I know, it’s just… I’m scared, that’s it”

“Hey,” she lifted her hand to cup your cheek “I’m not her. I would never do anything to purposefully hurt you in any way, hell I’d kill anyone that tried to! You know I know a guy that could help me get rid of a body if needed.” You laughed at that; she did indeed have a guy for everything.

“Promise?” your whisper was quiet as you looked into her green eyes also filled with tears.

“I promise. I love you, only you.”

Taglist:

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[ventique18]

Twisted Wonderland (Malleus) Comics Masterlist

🌸 Links under the cut 🌸

Surprise kisses

Masterpiece

Getting physical

Greetings

Fortune Cookie

Pants

Handfeeding (Father Crowley crack)

Jelly bean

Breed and butter

Possessive "husband"

Calisthenics

Cute (?) height difference

Nighttime activities

Holding hands while walking

Queen mothers and three generations of 🧎‍♂️

Sunbathing

Zoom interview

Lilia-shishou

Souvenir

Lemon cheesecake

Headturner

Homeless

Solving for x and y (u and i)

A walk through a father's life (Diasomnia)

Mystery box

If you could see me now

Seeing shrimp

Horniton

Dragon boyfriend

Drama king

Old dragon

Supportive dragon

Worms

Gargoyles and grandma

Too much...

Scribbles

Home

The devil

Hornton is a guy too!

Flirtatious prefect

Hornton meets mama

Priorities

Homescreen wallpaper

Sweet dreams

Soda

Love letter

Gingerbread family

Hotel rooms, retainers, and wigs

Fatal weakness

Terms and conditions

Virgin maiden

After school activities

Bus

My type

Infinite

Wing marks

Find you

Flower garden

Cute lil doggies

Size difference

Love square

Sparkling dress

Rent-a-waiter

Fighting your own demons

The cat isn't home

Meeting the grandparents

Long boy

Voice messages

Apple of my eye

Touch zone

With you

Reading over your shoulder

Better with you

[merakiui]

Hello! I'd like to place an order for a flower bouquet with banana pudding and lemon squares for guests Floyd and Jade Leech (together) please!

yandere!floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader x yandere!jade leech cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping, dub-con, implied loss of virginity, mentions of implied death/murder, jade and floyd's morbid back-and-forth banter note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

You wake to the dreary interior of a stranger’s van, lying on your back with your wrists tied expertly above your head. There’s thick tape plastered over your mouth and it ensures you’re kept quiet. The only noise you manage to produce is a weak, muffled sob. Your struggle is brief and futile, for the restraints won’t budge no matter how hard you pull.

You realize, rather quickly, that your head is resting in someone’s lap. That same someone is currently peering down at you, his head tilted curiously. Two-toned eyes blink at you, shimmering with a childlike glee.

“Wakey, wakey, Li’l Shrimpy,” he sings.

Staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, you think you’ve just met the Devil. He senses your intent to escape before you can even act on it. Clicking his tongue, he wraps his arms around you and drags you into his lap, holding firm.

“No need to be scared. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” With a toothy grin, all sharp points flashing at you, he pokes your cheek. “Jade might.”

You’re made aware of the second man then. He turns around to greet you from the driver’s seat with a kind, close-lipped smile. He looks friendly enough, but there’s malice thinly veiled in those polite features of his. Both of them bear a striking resemblance to one another, but if you look close enough the differences begin to show through. Eye shape, the way the part in their hair sits, that stray dark strand… You look between the two of them, silently urging for an explanation.

Jade chuckles, feigning sheepishness. “I wouldn’t do anything without reason.”

“Hear that, Shrimpy? You’re in good hands. We just wanna play with ya for a bit.”

You shake your head, whining when his fingers stray too close to your throat. He pets you fondly, soaking in your terror like a parched plant. You squirm in his lap, inching as far from him as you can get, but he’s everywhere—clinging to you, his face in yours. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek. Revulsion shudders through you.

How did this happen?

You were on your way home from work when the van pulled up and the door opened. Arms shot out to drag you, kicking and thrashing, inside and then a rag was being held over your mouth. It wasn’t a far walk—safe by your standards! You’ve done it dozens of times prior.

So why now? And why you?

Lying there, perfectly at the mercy of two strangers, you wonder if it would’ve been any different if you knew them. Maybe then it would be easier to find some sort of crooked comfort in the midst of so much fear and uncertainty.

Jade slides out of the driver’s seat to join you and his brother in the back. You catch the scenery beyond the van during the slim second the door’s open. Trees reach towards a gloomy sky on all sides, tall, hulking pines that close you in with twin monsters. It’s isolated, the ideal location for something nefarious and foul. Your stomach churns, and suddenly you feel sick.

The door shuts, and the forest vanishes. Just like that. As if it was never there at all. As if someone’s turned the page in a novel and the landscape has fallen away to account for the next scene—one far more gruesome than the last.

His arrival has you pressing back against the other’s chest. In this enclosed space, both of them don’t seem to fit. It’s too compact to account for long, lanky limbs. For a short moment, you wonder if both of them are trees.

“Let’s take the tape off, shall we?”

“Ooh, good idea, Jade. I wanna hear Shrimpy’s voice.” In one hasty motion, the tape is ripped from your mouth. Stinging pain settles beneath your skin. You yelp.

“Now, Floyd, you’ll scare the poor thing to death if you handle them so harshly.” Jade’s words sound sympathetic, but his laughter dampens them with insincerity. 

“Oops. My bad.”

You open your mouth and then shut it. What can you say? What are you supposed to say?

More importantly, what won’t send you to your grave right away?

“I’m sorry. If I did anything to upset you, I’m sorry. So please don’t…”

“What’s there to apologize for?” Floyd grips your chin and turns you towards him. “You did nothin’ wrong.”

And that’s what’s so sickening about it. Not the leering or the kidnapping. Not the fact that they’ve trapped you here in the middle of nowhere, in a van that no one will ever find. It’s the unlucky innocence of it all—the fact that you are merely a victim of chance and nothing more. No grudges or revenge needed. No real motive. Just bad fortune.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

Looking into Floyd’s eyes, you can’t find a spot of remorse. You suspect it’s much the same for Jade, who tasks himself with untying the laces in your shoes and slowly slipping each off your feet. Floyd watches this with a lazy smirk.

“You ever think about gettin’ new shoes?”

“T-They’re my work shoes…”

“Yeah? Where do you work?”

You swallow thickly, helplessly gazing about the van. It’s messy, things strewn about in disarray. A blanket bunched haphazardly. Empty pill bottles. Candy wrappers. Old receipts. A first aid kit. A shrimp plush missing its eye. Despite all of this clutter, the interior smells eerily sterile. Fresh like mint. The juxtaposition tricks your nose and eyes terribly.

“An i-ice cream parlor…”

“Ooh. No wonder you smell so sweet.” Floyd pinches your cheek. “Don’tcha think Shrimpy smells yummy, Jade?”

“Quite yummy, Floyd.” He sets your shoes aside before turning back to you. Large hands run up the length of your legs. Even though you’re fully clothed, you’ve never felt more bare. “So much so I’m tempted to take a bite…”

You squeak when he squeezes your calves. A devious grin curls on his lips, revealing the beginnings of his pointed teeth. “A-Are you going to kill me?”

Jade hums, tilting his head as he pretends to mull it over. “What do you think, Floyd?”

“You wanna wind up another number on the news, Shrimpy? You think anyone’s gonna come lookin’ for you?”

“M-My family—”

“Will be very sad if they aren’t allowed the closure an open casket provides,” Jade finishes matter-of-factly.

Your heart plummets into your stomach at that implication. Biting back bile, you shrink away from both of them. They share a glance, giggling in unison.

“Poor Shrimpy, having to be pieced back together like a puzzle…”

“Stitched up like a patchwork quilt.”

“Mm, yeah, but that’s no fun. Shrimpy’s too cute to become chum. I don’t wanna put ’em in the ground.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Jade’s fingers work to slide you from your pants. You fall still in Floyd’s arms, looking on in silent horror. He gazes at you. “Don’t look so devastated. We won’t kill you.”

The first tear slides down your cheek. Soundless. Alone. Floyd leans in to lap at the rest that follow, tracing a line up your face with his tongue.

“Aww. You went and made Shrimpy cry.”

“Have I?” Jade moves in to dab at the tears on your left side. Pressing his fingertips to his tongue, he smiles. “So it seems.”

Your shirt comes off next, slid up until it stops at your bound wrists. Floyd gets impatient halfway through and, seizing a blade from somewhere in the back, cuts you free of the pesky fabric. Much like your hope, it falls around you in tattered pieces.

It’s when you’re turned and pressed face-first into Floyd’s crotch that you begin to panic. Jade slides the knife through your underwear, peeling it away with a satisfied sigh. You writhe uncomfortably. Floyd’s fingers are in your hair next, holding you up just enough so that he can reach down to pull himself free from his sweatpants. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock before. Thick and veiny, achingly hard with pre-cum beading at the tip, it terrifies you more than the slick fingers prodding at your hole from behind.

Floyd takes hold of his cock and taps it insistently against your cheek. “C’mon. Open wide.”

You watch him through your lashes, your lips pursed tightly. There really is no other way, is there? You’re trapped between the two of them, your life in their hands. Or, more fittingly, snapped up in their jaws.

“Please… D-Don’t make me…” you whisper, but it’s a pointless plea.

Floyd tuts, temper flaring. “Don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

Jade’s hand massages your cushy ass. It doesn’t do anything to comfort you. “Be gentle, Floyd. I suspect this is their first time.”

“Is it really?” His gaze flicks to your face, searching for an indication that Jade’s observations are true. An odd light sparks in empty eyes. “You’re a virgin?”

A cold sweat washes over you. Your heart won’t stop pounding. Blood is rushing in your ears, trickling through your veins and electrifying your nerves. It’s too loud. Too dizzying. You’ve never felt fear so raw and cloying before. It claws at your throat, setting it aflame. It flicks on your fight or flight. It brings with it the animalistic urge to survive. Above everything else, no matter what it reduces you to in the end, survive.

“W-Will you let me go?”

“So you can go cryin’ to the cops? Yeah, right.” He scoffs and pats your cheek. “Either answer my question or open up.”

“How does this sound?” Jade offers just as one lithe finger slips inside your hole. You wince and grit your teeth at the intrusion. He chuckles and, without warning, forces a second inside. “If you’re good, we’ll stop by the ice cream shop when it opens tomorrow and get you a milkshake.”

Floyd’s lips split apart in a cheesy smile. “Aren’t you a lucky Shrimpy? Jade likes ya.”

You crane your neck to look at him. He smiles sweetly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Every other part of him seems so receptive to you, but his eyes betray him. They’re just as cold and dull as his brother’s. You’re nothing more than a cut of meat—an offering to sate his appetite.

“It’s important to feed your pets. They’ll starve otherwise.”

“You just wanna get yourself a sundae.”

“That, too.”

“We might as well get somethin’ to eat if we’re gettin’ sweets. Shrimpy can pick the place. Bet they’ve got great taste.”

“A brilliant idea. I’d like to know what sort of cuisine they’re partial to.”

You’re not sure how they can carry on like this as if it’s normal. It’s gross. You feel like you might vomit.

Floyd’s cock prods at your lips. This time, throwing your dignity aside in order to survive, you open wide.

You’re not killed, but something in you dies inside that van.

[thesiltverses]

so i know that the silt verses is approaching its series finale, and i have (allegedly) made peace* with this inevitability. however.

.....is there any chance you guys could be bribed into.... not.... ending the show.... 👀 like i'm not trying to say my mother-in-law makes THE best lemon squares and butter tarts in all of ontario, but i'm also not NOT saying that.

the best confectionary goodness you've ever tasted in exchange for more silt verses, what do u say

*i may still be in the bargaining stage of grief, actually

(also all of this is a joke!! hahaha! unless 👀)

Hahaha, your mother-in-law sounds awesome, and her sweet treats sound delicious!

I know this is a joke (unless 👀), but to answer it sincerely: like most kids, I used to love building Lego. Great towering mangled constructions. And you always got to a point where it was almost finished, probably finished - but the temptation persisted to keep building. Perhaps one detail more? One extra addition, make it taller, make it bigger? And then you'd try and jam another brick on and the whole thing would fall off-balance or collapse into pieces.

And then you had a reckoning with yourself; you'd spoiled your own work because you didn't know how to stop.

When it comes to the world and story of TSV, I of course feel the temptation to keep jamming on more bricks, but I also know what we'd be risking.

Whether it's mainstream TV shows or indie audiodramas, I think there are very few multi-season serials that are universally agreed to stick the landing of their final season; almost every single longform show is popularly considered to have some dropoff in quality or some kind of disappointment in how it handles its ending (even The Wire, Breaking Bad, The Sopranos).

Contrarily, there are a great many shows that are universally accepted to have persevered on long after they should have ended, or to have taken a total dive into a hole they couldn't get back out of.

That's just the nature of longform storytelling - it's ludicrously hard to wrap up in a satisfying way, it's much too easy to keep adding more bricks instead.

We're not done yet, of course, and no matter what I'm sure there are people who will come away feeling that this season was a disappointing ending to the series because it didn't do X or it did Y (and some of that will be totally justified, some of that will be subjective, and some of that is again just the inevitable cost of trying to end a long and complicated story).

But I'm really, really grateful and relieved that we've had some very kind and enthusiastic feedback on S3 so far, and I feel incredibly proud of us and our cast for some of this season's episodes and performances which I think do arguably count amongst our best work.

That feels like a very rare and a very fortunate place to get to end things on, and I wouldn't ever want to risk spoiling that by continuing to over-extend ourselves.

(And equally, I'm just excited to have the chance to make something else next!)

[fatesundress]

⭑ made with love. draco malfoy x reader

summary. it's winter, you’re sick, and draco is extremely rational a terrible, doting mess about it.

tags. fluff! so much fluff! married couple, gn!reader, lots of banter, post-hogwarts with one fleeting mention of the war, draco's anxiety is whetted by a common cold, he basically treats the reader like they hung the moon in the sky and also have the power to yank it down at any given moment. he's very grumpy. but so so in love.

note. my sweet anons!! i tried on three separate occasions to write the requests in my inbox but sometimes i need to be in the depths of hell (ovulation week) to manage smut. i'm sorry. i've made some progress i swear! but the draco hyperfixation came out of NOWHERE and unfortunately i had to indulge in it. also thank you so much for 200! :’)

word count. 1.6k

You are deplorable.

With a fever temperature of 40° and explicit instructions to stay in bed, you’re discernibly not in bed when he makes it home from the apothecary, a jumbled mess of the blankets he’d swathed you in left in your place. Your slippers are absent. Your slippers — in two feet of snow. Your coat is gone too, at least; ridiculously thick and unnecessarily long, though now he’s thankful for it.

Draco paces. Then he sets the Pepperup Elixir over a flame at his desk to keep warm, pours two drops of Sleeping Draught into a mug for your tea, and paces again.

He should have insisted on binding rings for your wedding, he thinks. Something to trace you in emergencies. There’s little to do without them as you’ve evidently either taken the Floo or Apparated, and, in truth, he can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. In school, perhaps? During the war? You have him comparing his nerves over a bad cold to those he felt during war. The insanity of that is actually not lost on him, if that counts for anything.

But you are deplorable, and his. His almost as much as he is maddeningly, irremediably yours.

How he allowed an aliment like this to infect him goes against all evolutionary sense. It’s a fever of its own. Incurable despite knowing its cause, and probably festering worse than yours.

And then the fireplace hisses and out you stumble with soot on one cheek and frost on the other, the neck of your coat zipped up to swallow half of your face. In an arm shoved deep in your pocket, a bag swings from the puffy coat crease of your elbow, and Draco baulks. It’s a muggle grocery bag — translucent enough that he can see the square imprint of your favourite sleepy-time tea, a chocolate bar, cans of what he thinks are soup, and — a lemon? Yes. A big miserable lemon that you’ve deigned was worth almost killing yourself over.

Draco does not hear whatever excuses escape your chattering teeth as he plucks your hand from its pocket, puts the bag down, pulls off your coat while you slap at his hands and insist you can do it yourself, and only because he thinks you’d hex him to oblivion if he tried, leads you with a hand on your back to the bedroom rather than hauling you into his arms and carrying you.

“A lemon,” he says, and is aware by the severity of his tone he might as well be saying a gun, or a missile, or a milk crate of Living Death cartons. “You forayed into a snowstorm for a lemon. Do you think I’m incapable of reading a grocery list? I just Flooed —”

“I got more than a lemon,” you huff in a weak voice.

It is appalling that that’s what you take from his admonishment.

Your snow-soaked slippers are tossed aside as you tumble into bed. Draco bundles you in blankets and holds his wand out to take your vitals. You roll your eyes all the while, but once the cold wears off he’s sure you’ll be burning hotter than you were this morning.

He shakes his head. “Lemons are common stock in apothecaries, you know. The shavings are essential in Weedosoros antidotes.”

“Yes, but they’re always so dry.”

“And chocolate — they sell it at Téa’s across the street for the magizoologists. Did you know that?”

“Hmph. No Cadbury, though.”

“And I’ve already warmed the Pepperup and poured you Sleeping Draught, despite your urgency for this —” He pulls the box of tea from your grocery bag, impressed with an image of a little bear with a red nightcap, a steaming cuppa, and a plate of biscuits — “Inarguably superior muggle panacea —”

“I never claimed it was a panacea —”

“Of which we should have distributed to St. Mungo’s en masse. In fact, I should owl them now so they’re informed the Sleeping Draughts are ineffective by comparison —”

“You’re insufferable —”

“Imagine all the orphans without rest —”

“Actually ridiculous —”

“You’re ridiculous. And I hate this bear. Look at his hat. Bloody Gryffindor.”

“Do you know what the wizarding world is lacking? — If you’re concerned enough to make a donation, Mr Malfoy?”

You think it’s hilarious to call him that. He does well not to mention you are, by law, also a Malfoy, and his money is your money to donate as you please.

“What is that?”

“Soup,” you say. “Canned soup — canned with love.”

“We are lacking soup canned with love,” Draco repeats, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be sure to write the Minister.”

“Do.”

“Only if you stay in bed.”

“Hmmm… mmmm… well. Hm.”

“Incorrigible,” he mumbles, brushing the damp from your face before getting up to fix your tea. (He kisses your cheek for good measure, big sop that he is. You do well not to mention it.) “Don’t move or I’ll cast wards on the fireplace.”

“Oh! Cast wards on the doors, too. I might go for a walk.”

He glares at you from the archway. Your answering laugh is broken by a coughing fit, and you look reluctantly glum when he raises a told-you-so brow.

Draco mutters about how ridiculous you are through the kitchen and back, as he steeps your tea, heats your soup, unstoppers the Pepperup Elixir, pours it in an old shot glass from a trip to Italy (you have no graduated plastic cups lying around), squeezes the big stupid lemon in your tea, carries it all to your bed on a tray and realises, still muttering, that these are a lot of steps. But Draco balances the tray without an utterance of magic. It’s rather impressive. You should be sorely sorry.

You are, instead, asleep.

You’re splayed across the bed like something Baroque, limbs fascinatingly posed: half under the blankets and half stubbornly poking out despite his fervent tucking, head nuzzled into the pillow with a slight frown. If Draco were any better with a camera he’d take a picture. Instead he takes careful steps to your bedside, placing the tray on the nightstand and sitting as close as he can manage without disturbing the (once more, revolutionary) arrangement of your legs. It feels criminal to wake you. His fretful anger that you’d gone out in the cold is whittled to a humiliatingly thin and empty husk, and all that remains is mushy adoration. Damn you for that; you look ridiculous anyhow.

Draco kisses your cheek again. Your nose. Your forehead. He traces an invisible portrait of your face with his fingers, as if he’s ever drawn anything better than nasty stick figures on crumpled parchment in school. You, though, he thinks he knows well enough by memory to try.

You stir, not too far from consciousness that it’s a challenge to find it again, but far enough to be audibly vexed by his summons to the surface.

Draco means to berate you in that way he's so good at — chin pointed and scowl permanently etched — but you grumble with a sick, hoarse voice and he falters in a pathetic display. “You forgot your love-suffused muggle soup,” he whispers, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Ugh.”

“Heinous, I know. Sit up for me?”

“Magic word.”

There’s his scowl. “Alohomora.”

“Not that magic word.”

“Imperio.”

“Unforgivables, Draco Malfoy?”

“Hmm, Locomotor Wibbly?”

You sink further into the bed, pulling the uppermost blanket over your head inch by inch. 

“Please,” he says, with profound displeasure.

You sit up and smile.

Draco sighs and lays the legs of the tray out over your lap. You regard his service with sleepy content, one of your hands travelling to his face in what his heart surges to appreciate is an honest thanks after his several near-heart attacks, and then your gaze finds the medically expert Pepperup in an Italian shot glass and it falls.

You groan. “Draco…”

His name says, quite plainly, please don’t make me.

Draco has enough self-respect to at least deny you this. “Wards.”

That says, quite plainly, I was not joking about the fireplace.

You look as though you’re contemplating the severity of two horrors, but it passes fleetingly, with one curse under your breath and a sour expression as you down the shot of Pepperup like… a shot. Burning Ogden’s that scrunches your face up until you shake it away with a blagh noise. 

Come to think of it, Draco's choice of glass is much more appropriate than some medical cup.

“Better?”

You shudder. “I will be.”

“Good. Have your love soup and stupid lemons.”

And then, when he isn’t expecting it, your hot palm finds the place it left off; Draco’s healthily warm, sharp cheek, the soft fuzz of hair beside his ears before your fingers card through the longer strands and you hum like he’s your favourite thing to hold onto.

He melts, eyes fluttering shut. You’re sick, and wholeheartedly deplorable, but you’re safe, and it’ll be alright.

“Draco?”

“Mm.”

“The soup.”

He opens his eyes. “The soup?”

“You know it was canned with love.”

“I trust you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.”

“And,” you say, thumb flush over his bottom lip as you smile a groggy, self-satisfied smile, “it was made with love, too, right?”

He rolls his eyes, and kisses you nonetheless. “You never cease to ask absurd questions.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Would you write for the M6 with an MC who's touch-starved and craves affection? Thanks in advance!

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a touch/affection-starved MC

Sequel is here! M6 with an MC who's been bottling up their affectionate tendencies

~ honestly I don't know why I didn't think of writing this one sooner, these kinds of headcanons are always my favorite to read and now I get to write some! many thanks @lemon-len ^.^ ~

Julian

If you think he didn't notice the way you melted into his touch when he healed you of that vampire eel bite that first night, you are wrong

He totally noticed

Most of it he chalked up to chemistry, but it definitely piqued his interest

He's also a champion at writing off his own impact on people, so the whole time you're unraveling the mysteries of the Red Plague and stealing moments with each other he's assuming it's the adrenaline high

It doesn't become apparent to him until after, when he's checking over all the bumps and bruises you've accrued, that he sees the way you lean into his touch

He's told you he loves you, and he knows you love him too, so he doesn't have to be hesitant (though really, when was he ever?)

Now he's folding you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you as snugly as he can and tucking your head under his chin

You're all surprised and tensed up at first, until he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head and you melt

He can feel the tension draining out of you and the way your fingers are tying themselves into the back of his shirt, and how you're burrowing into his chest

He's always been "too much" in his relationships as to how much physical touch he likes to initiate, but now he's found someone who wants what he has to offer and it's the person he's promised his life to

You can fully expect him to make you a solemn vow to never let you go uncuddled again

If you thought he was already generous with the PDA, it's about to get waaay worse

Asra

In case it's not obvious, their love language is touch

One of the hardest parts of hiding his affection for you those three years was not letting himself touch you

They already knew it was something you craved, it was obvious when they were your caretaker

But the first time he pulled you into a pillow pile with him to snuggle the familiarity of it rocketed you into inhuman levels of pain, and he wasn't going to risk that again

Once it became clear that you had grown enough to learn about the past and accept their affections, it was on

You have five minutes? cuddle time

There's a seat next to you? He's sliding into it and falling into your lap

You're walking by while he's sitting down? They're pulling you into their lap

You're getting ready for the day? He's doing your hair

You're having a conversation with someone that they're not a part of? They're standing behind you with their arms around your waist and their head on your shoulder, letting you take their weight

He has been known to fall asleep on you in public like this, most notably in the town square during a royal proclamation

If you're each doing your own unrelated tasks, they're either sitting beside you with your knees touching or behind you so you can be their backrest

He also knows how people tend to associate the feeling of different clothing articles with the people who wear them

So anytime they leave the shop while you're asleep you can expect to wake up wrapped in one of their shawls

He fully expects you to let him take your clothes with him on long journeys too, which is fine for the most part except for when it's one of your favorite pieces (you still want to wear that!)

Nadia

Her favorite way to love people is to provide for them

It demonstrates her commitment to being an important pillar in your life for you to lean on

Which is why she is completely tuned in to picking up on any of your needs, so she can satisfy them

So she figures out early on that physical contact is a desired and effective method of showing affection to you, but she can't figure out why you never ask for it

She guesses this could make a fun game, so she tries holding back a little and waiting for you to initiate

And then she watches you slowly withdrawing for a whole day, the confidence you always show in her is wavering slightly, and by the time dinner rolls around you're picking at your food with a face full of hurt and confusion, but you haven't said anything!

That's when it clicks for her that there could be another layer to this

Maybe one of the reasons you cherish affection so deeply is because you know what it's like to live without it

Now she's bodily lifting you out of your chair and dragging you to a more secluded spot to make up for her mistake

She feels awful, she should have known not to trifle with depriving you of something that obviously meant so much to you

She has you reclining in her lap, insisting on feeding you your dinner and apologizing for making you worry

Words are very important to her though, so she's going to ask as many questions as you're comfortable with answering about why you don't ask for affection and how to help you get there with her

Now she checks in with you every day by taking both your hands in hers and not letting you go until you've requested some gesture of affection from her

Muriel

He is so generally touch-averse that it took a long time for him to feel comfortable with giving or receiving any kind of physical affection

This didn't bother you too much until your trip south into the tundra

Because it was so cold down there you were incapable of keeping yourself warm at night, and needed to share a blanket and sleeping space with him

Oh my, that did things for your heart

Every night for several weeks you got to finish a day of uncertainty and training and exhaustion by sliding your back right up against his and melting in the waves of body heat he produces

It got easier as he relaxed around you, sometimes you'd wake up to his arm slung around you in his sleep and then you'd happily suffer through Morga's unimpressed stare as you savored the moment

But he was still so self-conscious of how big and intimidating he was, and you were still too hesitant to initiate contact whenever you wanted it, so things stalled for a bit there

You also have to be careful navigating his own relationship with his body

He's got so much trauma from the physical pain he was put through and the deprivation he endured that he's still learning how to taste the food he eats

Eventually you're able to ask him why he doesn't want to touch you, to which he responds that he's not used to touching someone without hurting them or them being afraid of him

It's progressing slowly, but now you have permission to initiate or invite cuddles, and it's changing the world for him bit by bit, because you're showing him that his touch can be a good and precious thing

Portia

She notices how much you love it when she touches you, but she doesn't really get why it's such a big deal at first

She grew up with a sibling and a grandmother and a town of friends and she does manual work elbow-to-elbow with a multitude of palace servants, touch is normal

Until she's sneaking another chapter of a favorite novel and encounters a character for whom touch is not normal

And now she's drawing connections between you and the character, is this why you relax as soon as she puts her hands on your face or your whole body sags when she hugs you?

She can't imagine a life without hugs and tussles and elbows to the ribs and tripping over other people's toes

As soon as you're both back in the cottage that evening she's pulling you onto the couch with her for cuddles

She's telling you all about the book character and listing all the ways you're similar to them, how you don't touch people often but you melt as soon as somebody does, how the character was that way because they weren't used to being touched

Was it the same way for you? Who gives you hugs? How many hugs did you normally get? Did you also get locked in a tower and use glass slippers to climb a beanstalk out?

You're surprised by the onslaught of questions, but her tone is purely curious and slightly concerned, without an ounce of judgment

Once you tell her more about why you crave affection so much she's determined to give you as much as you can handle

This is her partner in crime, her ride or die, you have always had her back and she is going to watch yours

Besides, she thinks you're the most attractive human to walk the planet, who wouldn't want to cuddle you for hours?

Lucio

He clued in faster than you expected him to

He's not very emotionally intelligent, but he is physically intelligent

He grew up in a warring tribe and spent his youth as a mercenary, interpreting people's body language for strengths and weaknesses is second nature

So here you are, dragging him through mystical realms he's completely vulnerable in, and he's watching you like a hawk

And he picks up on it quickly, any time you two make casual physical contact your guard slips a little

At first he's thinking of ways to use it against you, but your charm gets through to him fairly quickly and he never acts on it

It's the night you spend in the labyrinth that settles his doubts for him

You're stumbling every few steps but you're too hyped up to rest, until he sits next to you and pulls you into his side

He watches the way you tense and then completely relax, falling asleep on his shoulder while he's still holding an open weapon in one fist

He's briefly wondering if he'll have to make a habit of this, pausing everything to guard you so you can sleep

And then he's getting an emotional punch to the gut by feeling just how much trust it takes for someone like you to fall asleep on someone like him

He can't remember the last time somebody trusted him at all, much less this completely

By the time your eyes are fluttering open he's decided he'll be willing to keep watch while you sleep as often as you want him to

He's not shy about showing affection at all, so once you two save the world and start your new life together you can expect to receive some kind of physical affection several times a day

(an extra note from brainrot - this prompt has me inspired for a second one, which would be the M6 with an MC who has a lot of affection to give, but has been bottling it up and is just now getting to share it with someone who wants/appreciates it. Would anyone like to see that?)

[rel124c41]

I FEEL SO WONDERFUL RIGHT NOW. THROUGHOUT HEAVEN AND EARTH, I ALONE AM THE HONORED ONE. vox

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

tags: blood and injury, protectiveness, strippers & strip clubs, assassination attempt, fallen angels, morality ambiguity, blood and violence, developing relationship, unresolved romantic tension, romantic gestures

word count: 6,646

i. You are a dog.

Not in the physical presence. Your teeth were soft squares instead of cutting fangs. When you got happy, there was no tail to wag back and forth. In the placement of paws, you have two hands that experience a galaxy of motions and sensations. Truthfully, you are far more superior to a mortal canine. 

But here you are starting to learn that you could be a dog. In the not physical presence way. 

“Are there going to be schedules for when I must use the bathroom too?”

If you want to be a dog, the first lesson is to learn to wait. You must wait all day until he returns and if he is late, you must learn to wait longer. 

In a gliding stroke, you move your palm down to Vark’s first dorsal fin down to his second dorsal fin. Vark descends into dark water as you lift your wet hand out the tank. Droplets bleed off your fingernails and join back into the electronic blue. Is being a shark better than being a dog?

“Do you want an invitation? Because I feel if I did extend one to you, you would just refuse to go.”

“You cannot be so certain.”

“Why I certainly can, dear. I have actually calculated,” all electronics in the room besides his face start to spin in a rainbowing Wheel of Fortune circle and, after a beat, the three red numbers shine at you, 1, 0, 0, “that there is a hundred percent chance that you would have said no to an invitation.”

You blink your eyes which have not been closed in a long time. They burn and tear up like someone has squeezed lemon juice into them. Waterline soaking, you hum at his answer and press your cheek onto the edge of Vark’s tank.

“You cannot control where I go, Vox.”

“Come now, dear. No need to be so despondent. You would grow ill stepping into one of the sinner’s clubs. That is certain.”

“You are certain?”

“Wholly reassured. Or should I say holy? Another look at the statistics?” The rainbowing wheels start to move again.

“No, no,” you chuckle. You start piano-ing at the top of the water, hoping Vark or his hammerhead brother will come back up to the surface. Afterall, they will be your only company for the five, twelve, forty-three hours that Vox could possibly be gone. “I know that you’re right.”

“Then why the long face?”

Rearranging yourself, you finally look down from your platform. Piles of folders and paper cover the long conference table but the demon busies himself with a tablet. One claw slides and slides up the touch-screen, sometimes momentarily stopping to type something. 

The room is emptied of everyone but you two. This is how most of your time is spent in VoxTech tower — a room with only you and him. You have been in rooms with Valentino and Velvette momentarily but you are kept out of sight more often than not.

Perhaps, you reconsider, staring down at the demon, you are more caged dove rather than dog.

“I need to be out,” and you do actually pull your lips into that long face he mentioned, frowning delicately. “And I have been out before! So I see no reason that if I want to come, you restrain me from coming.” You behaved those times too: blending into the dark and simply observing as per Vox’s instructions, trying to figure out the reason for your question. 

A strip club. More importantly, Valentino’s strip club. It was an entirely new environment and perhaps your answer could be unearthed there. It was a zenith of sin. If you pulled back all the grimy skin and maneuvered the oil-black bones, you might find a heart within it.

Go where sin is. Find what you are lacking. 

You were still so unsure what those words meant. They scrambled your brain like an electric current and you cried over the instructions more than once. Given a command, you obeyed. Now here you are in Hell.

“Please.”

Vox is unmoved by the polite word. Manners are lacking in Pentagon City but that does not necessarily mean they are missed. Still enamored with his work, Vox tuts, “that isn’t going to work on me.”

“You know I could walk out of this tower right now.”

It was entirely the truth. You never lied – an old habit that stuck with you. There were no deals tethering to stay like a leash and no blackmail that could command you to sit like a biscuit shaped treat.

“Oh yeah, and where would you go?” Vox asks, still distracted.

“Lucifer.”

That works on him. 

His claw stops scrolling on his tablet. Applying the brakes to all his motions like a car when a child runs in front of it, Vox freezes at your words. You worry that the tablet might be broken in his grip. Underhanded tactics left a rotten taste on your tongue. You watch the flat-screened demon finally set down the tablet and look at you. Rewards are a palate cleanser though.

Gracefully, you stand up on your platform and start to descend. Irritated, Vox walks around the conference table and marches in your direction. “You wouldn’t daRE.” His voice breaks off into a hurricane of sparks and distorted frequency. “You wouldn’t risk it.” 

When you two collide like an actor and actress embracing on a stage or knuckles on the offending face in a punch, Vox pushes one of those blue claws to your sternum. Enough where it hurts. You hold your face as his panic translates into frustration. 

“Two hours. I stay in the shadows.”

“Thirty minutes. If I even see your face on one of my monitors, all of your privileges are revoked.”

“Two hours. I stay in the shadows; not a single camera or person will see me.”

All of his anger bubbles up and you watch it ripple over him in a single wave of static. When the tide is done, he negotiates, “An hour and thirty minutes. And I can get you some more of the boring sweets from Franklin’s and Rosie’s.”

“Normal, non-cannibalistic ones, you mean?”

“Yes, yes, that.”

How could you refuse such a treat? You smile a cryptic smile that Vox hates.

ii. You are a dog, but not a dog that protects. 

This caused people around you strife. What is a loyal dog unless it does not show its fangs and attack its owner’s offenders? You could not move your body to kill any soul and you do not think you ever will be able to. This morality clause ruined your first impression with both Valentino and Velvette. 

Which is why the limousine feels as cramped as a rat trap. 

Hands clenched on your thighs, you try to avoid eye contact at all times. Down, your eyes observe the tiny crescents cut deeply into your palms. You are butchering your skin like a manic secretary snapping a paper-puncher into overdue documents. Hunched over like you have been scolded, you do not even give a reaction when Valentino purposefully blows red smoke a whole 150 inches so it curls around your face and up into your hair. 

Accept and learn to swallow abuse. You only have to endure this another few miles then you can teleport into the club.

Right now, you try not to focus on the words Velvette had pierced at you before you and the trio entered the limousine: “Why are we bringing rubbish to this meeting? Vox, does your pet need to follow you everywhere?” Well, those words had not been the ones to cause you to wilt. Though the entire conversation was unpleasant.

Timidly, you shifted your weight. The chauffeur was of similar deposition as you, head bent down and one hand opening the door, he too shifted his weight uneasily. He probably moved more out of restive than worry. 

“Velvette, did we not all agree that they can come and go as they please?”

The red-haired woman shimmers at the reminder. In the beginning, she advocated for tying you down with a contract, making you truly palpable to any of their whims. She shoves the shoulder of Vox and snaps her teeth in his face. “Yeah, but not on a big night like this.

“We’re making our footing as the Vees. You’re being interviewed by Katie Killjoy tonight. Valentino is debuting that spider pornstar on stage. This is a heavy social media hitter tonight. Are you really jeopardizing that so they can play Sherlock fucking Holmes?”

You would admire her for advocating for what she wants, if it did not affect your plans. 

“I have to agree. A night like this would be busy. We will not be able to keep an eye on our little angel.” Valentino flirts his teeth at you in a rising smile. You shuffle your eyes back to the pavement. Why cannot they have this conversation in the limousine – you cannot enter unless the three overlords entered first.

At the mention of that forbidden word, Vox points at a claw up at Valentino’s face. “If they want to come, they can. Can you name one incident where they have jeopardized anything?” He turns his eyes towards Velvette, challenging her in addition.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, the two trying to rack their memory. When they turn up empty, Vox whirls on his feet in a burst of New Year's sparkling energy. “See. Trust in me.” He moves into the space that you and the chauffeur have made by the door. Not once offering you a look of acknowledgement. 

Still Velvette wants to make her displeasure known.

“They won’t protect us if something goes wrong. We provide them with protection and get what in return? Nothing?” Finally they all start piling into the limousine, a dance of limbs ending in claws and delicate legs. Demons do truly move like oil sliding into water. “There isn’t even a contract in place to ensure they won’t act out.” 

This is a complaint you have heard numerous times before. You enter last, head bowed.

Contracts, contracts, contracts. The most saccharine that any of the three Vs had been around you was when trying to rope you into a contract. Hand-feed fruits like blueberries and kiwi slices, caressed in four arms in a lover, or dissected apart by sweet nicknames. Those failures of seduction always made you amused because they repeatedly did them. Did they really think that you would fall into temptation or indulgence? 

All the gilded splendor of their offers were proven to be rusted as you already knew they all collectively wanted you on a leash. You earned trust by being benevolent. Yet, their complete faith you will never have. Honestly, you doubt the trio fully trusted each other. 

Always ready to backstab. What a sad environment to live in. The phantom pain on your spine grows heavy and itchy. Grateful that everyone has climbed into the car, you take a seat. You sit behind the divider between you and the chauffeur. A position where all three of them could keep an eye on you. Valentino takes the opposing head of the limousine, directly across you with Vox on the right and Velvette on the left. Twin cat demons slink into Valentino’s lap and an incubus throws his arm over Velvette’s shoulder. A bunny demon leans her weight into Vox’s side.

“They’re obedient, not protective,” he reminds Velvette. “We place faith in them to eventually pay our numerous favors in turn while providing exceptional protection. Think back to when we were human and put trust in people. Try to resurrect that part of you.”

Velvette huffs and steam floods out her nose. Having seemingly lost the argument, she begins to turn her attention to her phone. Merciless in her preparation for this night. The Vees are still newborn fawns in a pasture of grown deer. This is a critical stepping stone.

That was multiple turns and roads ago. Now you are waiting and waiting to arrive at the club. Valentino had already sent the tallest twin to lounge against you. All so he had a show of you squirming in discomfort. Then, Vox grew agitated and sent an electric current through the bunny demon’s ear; she too sandwiched your other side, not out provocation but protection. Not that you would protect her. So you sit like a taunt ball, fingers clenching and just wanting to teleport away.

You yank your neck away when the yellow-furred cat starts to press kisses across the thin covered larynx, afraid the taste of your skin will burn her tongue. You expect no one to say anything until –

“Valentino, call back your cat,” Vox snaps, hyperfocused on his phone. 

“Oh come now, they don’t mind~”Valentino grins slyly at you. “You don’t, right, love?” He forces a tiny pout as if your rejection of the cat demon’s affection will break his heart.

Vox sighs out in a fizzling tone. Still not looking up from his device, he instructs, “(Name), go on ahead. Remember to avoid people but cameras especially.” You do not need to be told twice, grateful for the escape. You straighten up and try to gauge the distance from the club along with a location free of people or cameras. Following the thread of allure, you think you finally find a spot until Vox interrupts.

“And (Name).”

“Yes?” You do not why but you think he sounds like he will wish you good luck.

“Only an hour and thirty minutes.”

“Of course,” your physical form disappears in a clap of gold light. Where leather had hugged the back of your spine, you fall into the embrace of sheets. Hair billows around and under you. The embrace of those two women were gone. Pink light finds you alone and lays itself over like a lover. Staring up at the ceiling, you murmur your reminder and last connection to your old life, “Find what you are lacking.” 

iii. You are a dog. You were once a stray though.

When you arrived in Hell, like everyone else, you had no home to call your own. There was no benevolent greeting man to guide and explain this discord and its system. You were equipped with nothing, bare-backed and face streaked with grime. Thrown into the den of lions, you would have to figure it out by yourself. 

You figured out one thing early on: the type of dog you were was not coveted. Standing in the middle of reds and blacks, your wide eyes watch as one then two then three citizens of Pentagon City peeled their sticker-like selves off the background of this unknown place and raced towards you, trying to kill you.

You ran until the bones in your throat hugged the last bit of oxygen out of you. Spent, you crashed into an alleyway and slept. Tomorrow, you will search like you were instructed to, tomorrow.

News spread quickly: an unknown angelic presence had fallen into Pentagon City. Not an exorcist angel – that was certain as they (you) were unarmed. Even without wings, witnesses had testified repeatedly that it was an angel that had landed. Stable on their feet, witnesses said, unlike how sinners collapsed like unwinged bugs to the brimstone below. An undeniable presence of holiness leaking from their pores. It was an angel, flightless and apparently defenseless too. Pentagon City had never been abuzz with such intense excitement before.

It made sense that the one who would find this angel would be an overlord with eyes on every street of Pentagon City, through every camera, television screen, and pinged cell-phone. 

It made no sense that this overlord would offer you a place of sanctuary when you offered nothing in return.

It made no sense that this overlord would not immediately harm or sell you out to Lucifer.

It made no sense that this overlord would look upon you so kindly.

iv. You are a dog. 

You bite.

A dog eventually does bite when provoked. In the past, under heavenly orders, you easily and proudly crunched your teeth into those who had made God upset. Being untethered to God now, you had forcibly put yourself on a muzzle. A dog must learn to act only when given orders.

This though, you agonize, sliding down from the bed, has been an awful time without orders. Sad eyes glance around the empty bedroom. You had been given an order long ago and clenched it to your heart like an asthmatic with their inhaler. At least you knew you were behaving when you were searching – which is why you glance forlorn at the room.

The bed is covered in billowing pink and white sheets, frills and all. A heart-shaped bed-frame rises up and kisses the wall. The only other object is a bare nightstand with three drawers. Should those be searched? You are starting to figure out the reason for this odd bedroom when you glance at the hued lighting of delicate crimson. 

You trail one finger on the hopefully clean blanket and start to kill the angelic presence inside of you. Flickers of it usually came when you teleported so you had to do this first and foremost.

All species released a susurrating aura of human, angelic, or demonic energy. The stronger the individual, the more consistent and powerful this spiritual humming was. In Hell, you had to learn to bottle the raging riptides of yourself until the point where you felt you could fall into comatose. Snuffing that angelic presence felt like killing yourself, lowering your heartbeat to a lethal turtle pace.

Oh, how you hated being here. Perhaps you should not have bargained when the four angels came to –

The door clicks open. You jolt and turn towards it. Laughter dies down in a trickle as you all observe and gauge each other. Two demons – one male and one female, leaning amorously into each other. You make no move to move until the male says, “Ha, two for the price of one. Looks like I picked the right room. Lucky me.” 

Your feet have never carried yourself faster before. My apologies “I was just rearranging the room for you. I’m not part of the entertainment.” You might not be hellborn or a sinner, but your naivety has long since vanished away, thanks to Vox’s guidance. “Enjoy the service,” you sing and try to slip past the pair.

“Now, now, surely I can have –” the hand going to touch you is drawn back, fingertips smoldering. 

You reel back in your angelic presence, thankfully slipping past them. You are entering a labyrinth with cameras but it is entirely better than staying in a wine room? Champagne room? Agh, whatever Valentino called them. “Enjoy the service,” a cryptic and gentle smile pulls up your lips. 

In an instant, you contort yourself to disappear into the shadows. 

To be frank, you had been searching endlessly for what God deemed you were lacking. The specifics were so hard to nail down. Emotionally, physically, mentally, monetary, company, etcetera. Was a spiritual deficiency your ailment? God had peered at you and noticed a hole.

In one frenzied night, you shoveled holes all around the outside premise of VoxTech’s tower. You dug into the dirt and tried to unground the roots of your miserable brain. Vox took your soil hands, wiped them down with a wet rag, and then employed Public Relations to cover up the incident before someone gossiped about the enigmatic holes. Another day, you ventured into Cannibal Colony on your lonesome to dissect the organs laid upon the streets, feverish in your efforts. When you did succumb to an actual fever, Vox brought medicinal products to you.

The point was, you had been trying for a very long time to find what you were lacking. Success was not coming easily. As you snake through foggy ropes of cigarette smoke and tunnel past barely dressed sinners, you worry that you might never find what you need to reconnect with God.

Condemnation had enshrouded you for quite some time. 

You dodge a security camera in the ceiling and continue on your route. 

The outline rules of tonight are that no cameras or people must interact with you. Or at least to avoid interaction with a person beyond the time where they might be able to remember the characteristics of your clothes or the shape of your features. Shifting into a darkened corner of the bar, you decide you could safely spend thirty minutes here before relocating. 

Do not order anything that is attention-catching, not too suspiciously bland or suspiciously expensive. (How well behaved you are.) You order a margarita and shift your attention towards the stage.

The horns on the gazelle-mimicking demon are gorgeous. The black ridges swooped elegantly and curled like a handcrafted blown glass-piece. Fragments of magenta light cover them. When she pirouettes, amethyst jumps to join magenta. When she dips her body, amber crawls sleepily into the raised bits of the black horns. It is a magnetizing sight that no other sinner seems to be appreciating.

Your original animosity towards sinful things had withered after such long exposure. You could not keep prejudice close to your heart forever. Beauty was in all of the created and fabricated world, you learned that it could even be found down below. 

Admiring art did not bring back your angelic status. 

You sit admiring the dancers that come and go. As they strip down to bras or boxers, you take measured sips of your margarita – not too fast nor too slow. 

Around the time you order a second one, the Vees have arrived into the club. Silently, you watch the three trickle in. Valentino strides in first with that newly contracted spider-mimicking demon on his arm. Yet in front of all of them is the cameraman of Katire Killjoy, walking backwards as the crowd parts for its sinful Wise Men. Animatedly, Killjoy is walking side by side with Valentino, lips rapid in their motions and waving her microphone, flanked by Velvette and Vox.

You squeeze your lime into the clear liquid, observing.

They move like this: in the heart of the club, talking and positioned to stand in front of the stage; towards the bar as the spider demon poses for the camera; Killjoy moves onto Vox and their interview starts; they walk down the center of the club again, and then still talking, all six (the Vees, Valentino’s new contractee, Killjoy, and her cameraman) spill into a VIP room, out of sight.

It has been thirty minutes. You leave money on the bartop and find another shadow to cloak yourself in. Avoiding cameras is a difficult task when Vox puts them on almost every inch of the places he is affiliated with. Grace is an angelic trait so you manage well enough for another thirty minutes. 

An anonymous and fleeting face to all who see you and invisible to the security footage always. When an hour has arrived, you decide to check in the VIP for what you are lacking. You snake past the bull-mimicking guards and find a corner to evanesce into. 

Shadows are comforting like enshrouding wings. They blanket your skin and sleep on top of you lightly. You lose yourself in the comfort until – huh? A gunshot – those were normal in Hell but why so incredibly close?

“Vox!”

“Fucking shit!”

“Shit shit shit!”

Your eyes snap towards the cacophony. The scene bleeds into your eyes. Where Velvette and Valentino once lounged lazily on the leather couch, they lean forward with more curses falling off their lips. Pink spider demon reels back though on his seat, one leg up as if judging if he should bolt. Katie Killjoy is in the same pose, leaning back as her cameraman freezes. She stands across from Vox – Vox – Vox –

His screen is shattered. A piercing of black lodged into the bottom right corner of his screen. Something you can visibly see through. Spindly branches of cracks drift up his face to shock eyes. A few dark, lifeless fragments fall into his open right hand. 

The assassin who shot him moves out of his own shadow and darts between Katie Killjoy and her cameraman. Imp, hellborn, relatively short but was obviously making up for it with speed. He raises his gun.

Your heart spikes. Your orders! What were your orders in a situation like this – Stay in the shadows. Stay in the shadows. Stay in the – you peel yourself off the wall like a sticker and teleport towards your G – towards Vox. It is instinctual and that worries you. The past turtle tempo of your heart crescendos. You explode into the scene with a bright gold clap.

When you arrive in the middle of the duel assassinaton attempt and interview, you are crouched on the ground, one hand pulled to the back of your spine, grasping at nothing. 

The room's atmosphere twitches and explodes. 

You had released too much of yourself and burnt half of the assassin’s face. Spiderwebs of charred flesh crawling across the left as blood leaks heavily through the cracks like a molten cake. His expression is stricken, arms wildly failing as he reels back from what had burnt him. No one has truly computed you in their mind besides Vox. Even though snowflake holes are starting to burn into the skin of Katie Killjoy and the cameraman, Vox is stunned instead of harmed. He knows that it is you he is staring down at but he cannot find it in himself to believe it.

At least, until he sees that cryptic, gentle smile on your face pointed towards the assassin, and with a panic snap of his fingers, Vox kills every electronic in Valentino’s club. 

It all moves as slow as your usual subdued heart. A symphony of glass breaking rains over the air. The camera explodes into blue bursts, happy gold fireworks snow down from the ceiling as lightbulbs pop one by one, cell-phones hum and die into blackening coal. Night colors the stage in an instant. Shrieks splatter the messy painting. 

You feel God in your ribcage, beating happily into your sternum. Your heart swells in its pace. Your soul pushes and pushes, reaching until you finally are able to grasp it.

In the nebulous, indistinguishable black, a glowing gold, pointed oval leaf lights up the scene. In a rapid move, the gold drags itself through black in one broad, crescent stroke. Losing its form and turning into a racing comet of light. As quickly as it came, it leaves. 

Hand emptied of your spear, you reach out into the black and put two fingers into the new mouth you have just ripped open in the demon’s throat. The squish of his larynx and torn muscles are warm. Like sticking your finger into a fresh loaf of bread, pleasant and heavenly. In a static current, you send yourself – the essence of your soul – into the bleeding cavern and the assassin dies. 

Flesh, bone, and skin explode in one quick burst. You leave no evidence of his existence. Incinerating him down into the ground until nothing remains but a black, smoking spill on the wood where your presence accidentally burned. 

Softly, as if dazed or sleepy, you blink open your eyes. They water gently and you blink out the burn. Hm? Father? You stumble on your feet and turn, open-mouthed from your heavy breaths, to stare at the only light source available: the monitor of Vox’s face, where he is in a similar stupor as you.

You have been with them (him, after he picked you up from the streets) for three years, eight months, and fifteen days. Not once in that expanding time had you acted out in a hostile manner. 

Croaking, you question the man, ““V̴̥͔̠̠̺̲͕͓̓ͅő̴̤̗̪͈̥̲͕̝̣͙x̷̡͍̳͕͖̙͓̭̖̩̺̞̀̓͛͋̔̕?” 

v. You are a dog. Your owner means everything to you.

Your previous owner was your Father before … before you had started to lack something. Never once did you question him. Never once did you disobey him. Never once did you have the audacity to suggest anything to him. Unlike your younger sister Sera who once openly suggested the exterminations and your older brother Lucifer who once openly suggested giving humans free will, you remained tight lipped and docile. Gabriel begged for you to propose anything – even a new species of insect for the human world.

“Start out small, insignificant. Something that won’t even cause a ripple. Please, just suggest something for this meeting; we’re worried about you.”

You did not see your ideas as mediocre rather as unnecessary ideas. As a council member, you should have openly expressed yourself but your tongue blocked your words like heavy metal bars. You saw no reason to bark, just to listen and obey.

And this saddened your Father, enough where he sent four of your brothers and sisters to – Suddenly, you stumble in both your thinking and footing, falling into bed with Vox. 

The flat-screened man groans under you, a shaken bundle of pained frequencies of varying pitches. His screen flashes an error screen and you wince in sympathy. Wildly, you search the ground for what you tripped on. With a shake, you manage to detach yourself from the tangled net of leather straps of a BDSM bondage top. Ugh, why is this the only room without cameras and devices?

With haste, you turn back to Vox who you had quickly dragged away from before Katie Killjoy could press you for questions. His breathing is glitched and uneven. His eyes are pinched in pain which worries you. Chest to chest, you lean over him and dig your hands nervously into pink and white billowing sheets by his monitor. 

“Vox? Vox?” You hesitate on shaking him because you would rather not be striked in the face. But he grew so quiet and cold when you grabbed his hand and a worm named worry is squirming around in the apple core of your stomach. “Vox? Are you okay? Answer me please.”

A dog is useless without its owner.

Gripping the sheets tighter, you rattle them and plead, “Vox, do I need to call an ambulance? Do you want Valentino or Velvette here?”

“Don’t … Don’t let either of th-th-those fuckers see me right no-ow.”

The worm in your stomach stops writhing around at the sound of his glitched yet alive voice. With a sigh of relief, you push your lips into a tight smile. “Copy that.” You are grateful that Vox is finally starting to open his eyes. It takes a few blinks until neon blue pupils are locked onto you. Your gratefulness is ripped apart when he springs up and shouts. 

“Get off me!”

Obeying, you fall off the bed. It is an entirely innocent position to you as you really have no sexual desire written in your code. To Vox however … you leaning over him, hands pinning him on both sides, and then to add whip cream to the shit-sundea, you had a knee up on the bed and your crotch resting on his leg … you sent an entirely different message into his hard-drive of a brain. Seeing the disgust in his eyes, you fall back at least two feet from him.

You two rest in ballooning silence, afraid to break it. Guilt twists your hands in painful circles. The technologized demon groans as he starts to slide up into the bed, rising up. He scans the champagne room you had brought him into and then intelligently moves to slide off the bed. 

He stumbles and his screen flashes a worrying rainbow. With a yelp, you run forward and gently push him back to his feet when his knees give in. This time you will have to disobey and refuse to let him go. You tightly grip on his left arm and scan him over.

The crack on his screen is Worry Central for you. You have yet to see an overlord injured and Vox being the first one leaves an unpleasant feeling on your tongue. That must be your angelic roots, your sympathy is a bottomless bottle that can make rivers into lakes into oceans. Softly, you stare at him as he stares back guarded. 

“You never answered my question.”

“You threw so many at me.”

“Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“An ambulance will attract the media’s attention. You were smart to get my attention to shut down the cameras. Someone will be able to fix me up at VoxTech.”

“But are you okay,” you press, frowning. 

“I’m fine.” His claws are tightly gripping your arm as if he is afraid you will slip through like sand. You can feel that electric pulse of his dead heart and you see the nervous white flickers breaking off the top of his antennas. 

“I am a seraphim,” you confess. You wince at your wording momentarily, “Was a seraphim. I know that you, Velvette, and Valentino had placed bets … though that was three years ago … on which type of angel I used to be. So, whoever said ‘seraphim’, um, congrats.” 

His claws relax. The needle pokes he had drawn into your flesh start to paint five, delicate, cherry colored tears down your arm. You ignore the flame of pain to gently smile at him.

“Fuck, I had thought dominion angel.”

“H-Had you?” You laugh, smile growing.

“Yeah, can we just say you are dominion if they ever ask you. There was a lot of money and contracts riding on that bet.”

“Yeah, I’ll say dominion instead of seraphim.”

“Thank you.”

You are so shocked that Vox would use any manners that you accidentally rip yourself away from him. Oh, that is not good, you realize, watching the smile you had just gotten to grow delete itself off his monitor. Simultaneously, his body also seems to jolt away from you. Floundering, you say, “Sorry, I–.” You just effectively crushed that entire milestone. 

There is a deep desperation in you to regain that short-lived kindness from Vox. He was kind sometimes. It was as rare and as brief as a shooting star.

“No, it’s fine.”

Vox banishes the atmosphere with a wave of his hand. His dismissal hurts. You blink as an awful thought dawns on you, had you been imprinting on him? Did his approval start to mean something along the way? Before you can chase the idea, he starts towards the door, a self-assured voice returning, “Well, I got a mess to clean up. The head of Public Relations will need to be called if Velvette hasn’t already done it. Ugh, that bitch Killjoy is going to be such a headache. Hypnotism should be easy though … cunt always on her phone.” He grasps the doorknob. “And Valentino’s going to bitch about the lights and those fucking tacky carpets. What a mess. Assassin should've been better at his goddamn job. And –” his voice scratches and he suddenly turns around, the blue outlined eye growing in size “-- and you’re a seraphim.”

You jump at the static in his voice. The back of your thighs met the disorganized sheets of the sex-scented bed. Should you have kept that secret – he is an overlord of Hell – that type of information is valuable even if you were a fallen seraphim – what was he going to use it for – what would he be doing with you now – is this !

“That makes Lucifer your brother?”

Should you call it off? After three years of companionship, was this the moment where you needed to run? 

“Yes.”

“Then, haven’t you gone to him? Wouldn’t he – do you think he would kill you?”

Firmly, you shake your head. “My brother and I were close. If I was to go there, I am sure that I would be provided a home but –” You had considered leaving before but – “but if I were to live with him, he would shelter me away from Hell. I was told to find something here by our Father. I need to find that before I return to Heaven.”

This Vox knew. This Valentino and Velvette knew. You were ‘sent’ to Hell to find something that you lacked. Velvette had joked a fun personality was what you were missing and Valentino had hypothesized that you were lacking a proper sex life. Vox never guessed though, thinking it boring.

None of them had faith that you would actually be returning to Heaven.

You still dream of it vividly: the day of your voluntary fall from Heaven. 

Four of your siblings were sent to severe your soul from God and end your life. Originally, even you were under the impression that you would accept it without resistance. You were a good dog. You had kneeled and accepted the order. When Sera had brought down at her claymore to cut your head from your body, instinctual will pulled you to teleport away from the swinging blade. You never expected it and neither did the four of your siblings.

To think you had a stronger will to live than to obey your Father brought you close to hysterical sobs.

With that boiling sensation under your skin, the sting of holding back tears inflaming your nose, you cut down all four of the seraphims sent to kill you. Into their red stomach, your blade had fallen and sliced. Never deep enough to kill but immobilize. You darted, leapt, swung under, jumped above, and all around danced in a hurricane of blades and thumping angelic power. Not one hit landed on your skin.

Upset that you were acting out, you stood in the aftermath and cried, “Father, how can I make you forgive me!”

“Go where sin is. Find what you are lacking, (Name).”

Cutting all six wings over your back was agonizing but it was no worse than hearing your poor little sister Sera, caterwauling after you, your name mournful on her lips as you voluntarily fell into Hell. And the closest you had felt to Heaven after three years of living in Hell was when you killed that demon this afternoon. To protect –

You risk a glance at Vox as he stares at you as if he is seeing you for the first time. “I – I just need to find what my Father said I was lacking. Lucifer would want me to stay though. I do not hold any hard feelings for my older brother and would go to him if I had to.”

“And you haven’t gone to him yet? After everything?” He talks like you are mentally impaired, disbelief surfing in his static. 

You understand what he is referring to – the abuse from Velvette and Valentino, the underhand tactics to get you roped into a contract, and the hatefulness of Vox. All of it really should have repelled you away. You should have been gone from the Vees’ resisting grip before it had driven you to kill someone, hellish or not. Though, you did kill someone for someone.

With a gentle, angelic, almost cryptic smile that only seraphims are capable of, you say, “I happen to enjoy the company I keep.”

Vox short-circuits with a grumble, appalled at the very idea of you and your inane ways. You close in towards him. He turns his face down, running a clawed hand across it. Offering up the hand that he had previously pierced, you say, “And why have I not been banished? After everything?”

He does not take your hand, staring at it incredulously, and replies, “The company … yours is exceptionally less awful than Velvette’s or Valentino’s.” He lifts up his face, red hovering over a bluish-gray screen. Anger or embarrassment probably. “Though it is troublesome.”

When he walks out the champagne room to fix the numerous plights of the night, you follow, faithful and obedient. 

[silverskye13]

wait silver if renbob visits hels has he met the red king? and if so are they disastrous or iconic together

"Deliiiiivery! :D" Renbob calls in a sing-song voice, holding a stack of boxes in his arms. "RK, where you at my brother?"

He stands in the empty loading dock at the back of the Colosseum, smiling expectantly at the vacant bay. He likes hels. It's warm, and the people are interesting. It could stand to be a little more colorful, but not all pretty places are colorful. Like the beach for example! It's mostly just yellow and blue and hot, and it's still pretty.

(That's perfect actually! Hels makes him think of the beach: hot and monocolor, but somehow still interesting once you get past all the sand. Hah! Imagine a beach in hels! It'd be like a sauna, all steam and rocks.)

"RK I know you can hear me," Renbob calls again. "I can't hold these boxes all day! Well I can, but I will get bored you know?"

There is a grumbling, growling sound that comes from everywhere, but mostly the back of his head. It starts as several whispered and snarled words, and slowly coalesces into a string of coherent thought, "I don't answer to the name RK here, lad."

"My bad, must've gotten you mixed up with someone," Renbob chuckles. "Do you want your delivery?"

"Loading bay?"

"They won't let me park the van anywhere else, my brother. Oh! Please bring your favorite sword, if you don't mind? :)"

There is a cacophony of barks and growls as Red's presence slips out of the back of Renbob's mind. He wonders if Red knows that's the sound his thoughts make: an angry pack of wolves. They aren't kind wolves. They whisper a lot of unkind things when they trail after Red's thoughts. He wonders if that's why Red is always so nice to people: he's keeping the wolves from the door, so to speak.

Red strides into the loading bay, one hand on the wall as a guide until it ends in the open room. He steps confidently even when the wall is gone. The iron crown, sunk down low over his eyes, either doesn't hinder his sight, or he's memorized enough of the Colosseum that it doesn't bother him anymore.

"What sound do my thoughts make :O ?" Renbob asks. Red, who'd been walking a little too far to the left of him, twitches his big, wolf-like ears and realigns his path, meeting Renbob where he stands in front of his camper van.

"What sound do ye... Thoughts make?"

"Yeah, do they make like, sound? I always figured you'd hear a pleasant background of guitar and ukulele music."

Red tilted his in an expression that probably meant he was raising his eyebrows. It was hard to tell with the crown in the way. "Ye thoughts sound like yer voice. Though there do be a slight... Birdsong type noise."

"Is it chillaxin?"

"Aye sure."

"Groovy! :D" Renbob laughed. "I'll take it then! And like, you can take these."

He passes the stack of boxes to Red, who struggles a bit with their weight.

"What all have ye brought for me lad?" Red grunts, giving up on holding them all and setting them down. "All I asked for were some of those hot chips, and ye lemon squares."

"Oh it's just some bits and bobs, mostly," Renbob hums brightly, counting on his fingers. "There's a shulker of emerald and lapis (you said you were looking for a new color to go with all the red? :V those are opposite on the color wheel might be a good place to start! :) ), a shulker of flowers for dyes (all labeled. Are you color blind? I can't remember. Anyway I labeled the dye colors they make ^_^), three boxes of lemon squares (for you and your hand and a box for your Colosseum buddies! I'm sure they'd love some :D), two bags of spicy chippies, and I got you two bolts of fabric (your cloak is getting so torn up :( you've gotta take better care of your stuff brother!). Oh, and there's a few diamonds in there I nicked from Ren. (He won't miss 'em I promise ;) )."

Red tilted his head to the side, "How...? In the world...?"

"Hmm? :)"

"How do ye make...? With your voice...? Ye know what, it be unimportant," Red chuckled, a growling noise that fractured on the edges, a hint of the wolf-thoughts that leaked into real life. "Alas lad, I did not know ye would bring so much, else I would have had payment ready for such finery."

"Oh perish the thought, RK!" Renbob grinned, waving a dismissive hand. "You know you don't have to pay me!"

"Er... Red."

"That's what I said. :3"

"I see, ye be jesting?"

"Jest so!"

"Ah," Red smirked and leaned against the tower of boxes. "Ye said ye visited Ren. How fares our little brother?"

"He's older than both of us Red!"

"Aye, but he also be shorter than both of us."

Renbob laughed, bright and hearty, and for a moment, sunshine flickered in the Colosseum. Flowers bloomed around Renbob's feet. "Right you are, brother! Though I think he might be taller than me if I took my platforms off."

"Aye, but I see no universe where ye be making that particular wardrobe choice."

"I dunno. I was thinking about going to the beach after this. Do you guys have beaches in hels?"

"Aye, if you fancy soul sand by the lava lake."

"Oh man, I haven't taken a good lava bath in awhile!"

"Ye do love those an uncanny amount."

"It's exfoliating!"

"Makes me smell like burning hair."

"Well, to like, really enjoy it you have to get past the-- wait! You asked me a question?"

"Our little brother."

"Right! Ren's doing well! Gave him a ride over to his new season with his boyfriend."

Red, who had found one of the boxes of lemon squares during the conversation, coughed out a bite of lemon. "Begging your pardon?"

"You know, those go down a lot better with milk. I think hels dries them out a little. :("

"Ren has a boyfriend?!"

"Oh! Yeah, mister Docm77," Renbob beamed. "I don't think they've made it like, Facebook official yet, but they sure were making a lot of plans together for next season!"

Red sighed out a breath of relief, holding a hand to his chest. "Ye be jesting again."

"Mostly. :)"

"Well, when this great Book of Faces writes their names side by side, ye let me know."

"Certainly!" Renbob crossed his arms behind his back. "Oh, hey, before I go, like, could I ask you a huge favor?"

"Aye, lad?"

"I need a sword. Gonna be hopping to some dangerous orbits soon I think, and like, I'm real peace love and plants and all, so I can't make my own. But I can accept a gift, if you catch my drift?"

"Ah, suddenly all the gifts make sense," Red hums. He reaches down to his sword belt and unbuckles it, passing it off to Renbob, sword, scabbard and all. "Must ye take my most precious one?"

"You know how I work, Red. Only gifts given with love," Renbob grinned. It was a little sharper than it needed to be. Red couldn't see all the teeth. But it was nice to smile wide sometimes. "I do really appreciate it, my brother."

"Of course." Red smiled back, also showing a few too many teeth. Renbob felt a swelling of fondness for Ren's helsmet.

(It really was nice to be with kin sometimes, the people you could really be yourself with. Red didn't think he was unsettling, or fae-like. Red didn't go making a big deal about how widely he smiled, or how much he changed when his whims stretched him around. Red didn't begrudge the odd little pacts and rules he had to follow.)

"Well I'll like, catch you on the flipside brother!" Renbob said cheerfully. "Don't die while I'm gone, ya dig? :)"

"Don't go being any stranger," Red returned, picking up a box to carry back to his rooms. He would need help carrying them all.

[im-not-even-sorry]

Tw hornyposting post lemon vodka

Make a pig out of yourself for me. Make me a fucking show. Eat till you can't anymore or tell me to feed you when you're getting too full. Whine and moan and whimper while you're rubbing your stuffed gut, or when I'm rubbing it for you (tell me where and how it feels best?). Burp and hiccup and let me help you fill up each square millimeter of newfound space. I may be a bit of a sadist, but I want you at your limit. I want you PAST your limit. Get there for me, stretch that poor stomach out till it bulges from underneath your ribcage and I swear I'll do what I can to make you see stars. I can't wait for those calories to settle on your body, on your hips, on your thighs. I want you softer. I want you to look cared for. I want you to bear my mark on your beautiful body. I want to feel my influence when you're sitting on my lap. I want you to grow for me. Become truly mine. Will you do that for me, baby?